Mirror's Edge
by Lucky-Angel135
Summary: America finds Romano looking rather lost. Only this isn't the Romano he knows. In this Romano's world he and America are in love, but in this world they're definitely not. Now it's up to America to help this Romano get home, and to bring his Romano back. 2p!Romano, Eventual Romerica.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't even know guys. This RP, done with the lovely jetsir as she's known in most circles, has currently stolen my soul and is the reason I am behind on everything. However! This thing is here just so you know that we're still alive and working. Better news though, is that this is all written so I just have to get time to edit and post it. Should be updated daily with each chapter being no more than 2,000 words and no less than 1,000.**

**A weird thing though is that this is an RP, so there's an omniscient narrator going on. This is weird for me to post, because for other stories Lucky and I clearly distinguish who's thoughts we're following by line breaks. This is sort of free flow. Jetsir takes credit for all of America's thoughts, while I took on a 2p!Romano. **

**It would mean so much if you could drop a comment and I swear the other stories are on the way, particularly SLK. *SPOILER* England sits on a chair of things that are not living. **

**Okay, so onto the actual story. I only take credit for half of this and none of Hetalia.**

* * *

Three days passed since Romano came to this world, and still he wasn't sure how it happened. Things were so different here, so much more peaceful, or so it seemed. He refused to be lulled into a false sense of security, which was why he had chosen this vantage point on a park bench. His tired eyes watched the passing people. They all looked oblivious to what was going on around them, chatting, playing, and eating. Romano cataloged every one of them: height, build, gender, age, searching for a possible assassin in the fold.

He reached into the paper bag on his lap and took out a few breadcrumbs. The fat, cooing pigeons waddling around his feet lunged as he tossed them out onto the pavement.

Meanwhile, America unknowingly made his way through the very same park, whistling whatever tune was topping his charts at the moment. What a great day to be the hero! He looked around with a burst of pride in his chest at all of his people enjoying the day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and - wait. He paused when he saw a familiar man sitting on a bench feeding some pigeons. Was that Italy's brother, Romano? He looked… different. New hair cut? What was he doing at his place outside of a meeting? Last he checked he and Romano weren't exactly friends. Whatever. Maybe now was his chance to change that. With his signature grin spread over his face, he called out to him. "Yo! South Italy! How's it hanging, dude?"

Romano's hand paused in its gathering of another fistful of breadcrumbs when he heard a voice, so familiar and yet so different from the one he knew. He tore his gaze away from profiling the park goers, and felt his heart plummet. It wasn't him. The blond hair and obnoxious smile were so far from his America that it almost sickened him. Still, this person looked as if he knew him, and the last thing Romano wanted was to draw attention.

"Ciao." He threw another handful of crumbs to the birds.

America tilted his head to the side in confusion, drawing closer to the half-nation. Romano looked…off? He couldn't place it, but the man stitting before him definitely didn't seem right to him, and his inner sense of heroism told him that it was his job to find out. So, squaring his shoulders, he made it his mission to find out what was bugging South Italy and what seemed just so…wrong about him. Without ceremony, he plopped himself down on the bench next to the Italian. The sudden movement scared off the birds, but America paid no heed and got straight to the point. "What's getting you down, broski?"

Romano studied him carefully. His hair was blond and his eyes were blue, but he had the same face. The same face he had touched, had worked so hard to touch. Yet what could he say? That he was in a different world from his own? That he was confused by all the technology and the people walking around in the open as if nothing could hurt them? It didn't make sense to him. He looked back down at the pavement as a few of the braver birds returned for a handout. "I'm just waiting."

"Waiting, huh?" America's brows furrowed in confusion. Such a mysterious answer. He was never one for all that ominous stuff, that was more down England's alley, what with his Sherlocks and Chambers of Secrets. He followed the Italian's line of sight and watched the birds with him for a few minutes before saying, with a half shrug and a carefree smile, "I've never been one for waiting, s'not really my style. Heroes are all about the action, you know?" He nudged the other with his elbow playfully, before turning his bright smile on his gloomy companion, as if he could will his cheerfulness onto the other.

Romano turned to the other and nearly lost the fraying self control he was sure that kept him alive. This was a different world. He didn't know the rules, but the way this person talked…it was so much like America.

"Are you America?" His hand dipped into the bag, and the sleeve of his uniform rose, revealing the string of still fresh bruises from Feliciano's latest rampage.

America blinked. Well he hoped he was America… if not, he was wearing someone else's flag on his underwear. He opened his mouth to answer, but froze in shock when he saw the bruises. Ugly things, really, and obviously defensive. "Shit, man!" he gasped, reaching out to Romano. "Who did this to you? Are you okay? Is your brother okay?" If Romano was hurt, there was a pretty good chance that his meeker, more cowardly brother was hurt, too. They were, after all, the same country, and America, oblivious as he was, was able to make a connection such as this.

Romano watched him take the arm blankly. He wasn't sure why he looked so shocked. "Of course he's fine. He's the one that did it." He said it simply. It was no secret that Feliciano attacked him on a regular basis. Even the America in his world knew.

America stared. Something was _definitely_ wrong with Romano. "Dude, you know your brother wouldn't harm a fly. I think the last time he tried he ended up hiding behind Germany, waving his white flag at it. Were you hit on the head? You aren't yourself…" That would explain the odd behavior, because Romano really wasn't himself. The more he stayed in the company of the other, the more America was beginning to realize what was off about the Italian. He wasn't snapping irritably about anything, no cursing, "Potato Bastards," nothing. He seemed so…submissive. Defeated, even. Just what was going on?

"Maybe not your Feli, but its the only thing that keeps mine alive." Romano watched as one of the birds he was feeding the longest lost its footing, fluttering its wings as if trying to escape its own death. It squawked and a wriggled its plump grey body like a fish out of water. Romano watched as it went still. The other birds continued to eat as if nothing had happened.

America swallowed thickly, a chill running down his spine as he watched the bird take its last breaths. Maybe he was a bit slow to read the atmosphere, but he was reading it now in nice, bold print. More than off. Something felt dangerous about Romano, _this_ Romano, for America had a feeling that he was not the Romano he was used to. For once in his life, he spoke quietly, evenly. "You're…you're not from around here, are you?" He stared at the man, the stranger, next to him, critically, really observing him for the first time.

Romano looked at the horrified expression on this America's face and turned away. It was too painful. As horrible as his world was, his America was there, with that beautiful dark hair and those red-tinted eyes. "No." He said. "I don't know where I am."

Paranoia, forged from years spent in a Cold War with that damn Russian, began to creep into the edges of America's awareness, a jerk reaction to anything that wasn't as it first seemed. He forced himself to shake it off. For some reason, he felt that he needed to help this alternate reality half-nation, like it was his duty, some sacred promise he'd made and had to fulfill or it would gnaw at his conscience until the end of time. He stood. "C'mon, I'm going to help you." He stared expectantly at Romano, not about to turn his back to him. Just because he was in hero mode, didn't mean for a second he would fully trust this man.

Romano looked up at the other nation, or what he assumed was a nation. He didn't know in this world, and he could almost imagine a bat in his hand. It made his heart ache, a weakness Feliciano constantly liked to exploit. "How can I trust you?" he asked as if it were a simple question. Another bird began to flop about before falling still. Again, the other birds didn't acknowledge it and continued to eat the poison.

America looked past Romano and to the birds, that he finally realized were falling dead at the fault of the Italian man. He looked up, and into the other's eyes, an eyebrow raised, "I could ask you the same thing." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket and added after a moment of silence. "Besides, the way I see it, this isn't just about you. _My_ Romano's probably in deep shit right now, and since I'm the hero, I need to save him. I figure you're probably a good place to start." He frowned inwardly. It was sort of awkward referring to Romano as _his_ Romano. It came off as sort of relationship-y to him, but he hoped he got his point across, regardless of how it looked to the other.

Sure enough, the question was asked with a blank face. "Are you in love with this world's Romano?"

America froze. Of course he didn't love this world's Romano. Sure, he was attractive, and stylish, and the way he got so flustered could be cute sometimes, but hey, America was still a teenager in body. He had thoughts like that about practically every nation except those dirty communists! Well, there _was_ that phase he went through during prohibition… He shook himself out of it, flushing scarlet. Then, totally ruining the serious, if not downright morbid, atmosphere, barked out "Wh- Of course not! Can't a hero be a hero without a reason!"

"I suppose." Romano looked back at the dead birds scattered around him. Only their glossy feathers moved in the wind, their eyes staring blankly. "You're nothing like him." He stood up, leaving the remaining bread crumbs on the bench. "But I'll go with you if it's what you want." He was tired of running and fleeing, and all this technology and all these bright flashy billboards practically screamed for a bombing. He shouldn't have been out in the open.

America opened his mouth, about to ask who he was nothing like, but closed his mouth with a soft click as he answered his own question. His alternate self. Of course. He wondered what his connection was to the Italian in the other world, but that was something to think about at another time. So, making sure Romano was walking alongside him, not behind him, in case he did anything tricky, he began to lead the other through the crowded streets of the city and to his penthouse apartment. On the way, jostling through crowds of people who either apologized politely or went about their business, he began to formulate a plan of action.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. This gives me so many emotions later down the road! Shuts me in a glass case of them! Reviews are love and I hope I didn't butcher 2p!Romano. His descriptions are vague so that you can imagine your own design for him. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the daily update! I'm so shocked by the response. I was expecting to get like 1 review, but you all gave this thing 5! Thank you so much and hope you enjoy! Lucky and I are still alive!**

**Disclaimer: Once again, half the credit goes to Jetsir for writing America. Angel didn't know what she was doing. **

* * *

Romano was used to crowds. The merchants of his world all gathered along a tight alley to keep from being too exposed, and he felt much more comfortable. This America seemed a little air-headed, but he was far from stupid. The fact he made sure to keep in step so Romano neither walked too far ahead or too far behind proved that. When they reached America's apartment he stopped at the doorway, unable to believe what he was seeing. Such…luxury…

America arched an eyebrow. "Sorry if it's a bit messy." He didn't really mean it, but the other's staring unnerved him. This was the residence that he stayed in the most, so he made sure to furnish it to his liking: comfortable couches, movie posters, a large, flat-screen tv with a high quality sound system, the works. "Well come on," he said, trying to usher the other into the apartment. He was tempted to just shove Romano inside, but who knew what kind of weapons he had on his person? The world that this South Italy came from was much crueler than his own, if the bruises courtesy of none other than _North Italy_ were anything to go by.

Romano took a cautious step inside, his eyes wide as he looked around. He felt the couch, and he jerked away when it gave way under his hand. It was soft. Soft and not stiff. Was it actually stuffed with foam? He went to the movie posters and read them. They were in full color. Photographs and not paintings. The fact that this world still had movies made something cold curl in his stomach. Where was he? He shook his head, feeling overwhelmed. He began to tremble.

"Dude? Are you okay?"America's eyes widened as Romano began to shake. His instinct to help, coupled with that odd sense of duty he'd felt earlier, overpowered his better judgement. He walked up to the Italian and placed a strong, comforting hand on his shoulder.

Romano flinched when America's hand landed on his recently dislocated shoulder. Feli had done his worst about a week ago, and Romano had to set it back himself. It was still tender, and he looked up at America's concerned blue eyes that were so unlike his America's. "W-Where could you possibly get all this? Shouldn't you be using the money you have for something you need? Like food? Clothes? Weapons?" His eyes darted around the apartment. There was so much here. Just the movie posters alone could fetch a near fortune on the red market of his world. "You should sell this."

Hesitantly drawing his hand back, America blinked in confusion. "I bought it all with the money I get from my job as a nation. Well that, and from the odd job I take on the side in my spare time. I already have what I need…" Just how different was this other world? And how could it get to be that way, especially when there was an America, a hero, there too? All these questions, but America had to focus on the matters at hand, "let me see your injuries, I can fix them."

Romano studied the other nation warily, but nodded his consent and began to remove his uniform, not flinching as the fabric brushed the whip lashes and boot marks. He kept a small knife hidden in the palm of his hand should this seemingly friendly America try anything. His America wouldn't, but there was no taking risks in his world. If the other Romano wasn't careful, he'd be wishing he were dead, especially if Feliciano had anything to say about it.

It was all America could do to not shout in surprise at the extent of the damage that marred the other's body. He'd seen people return from battlefields that had fared better. A feeling of dread passed through him at the thought of what dangers his world's Romano was encountering right at this moment. But first thing was first, patch up this Romano, then he could find out exactly what happened that caused him to end up in this world and set things straight. Again, he let his guard down in front of this man, if only a little, as he left him in the living room to go to the bathroom where his first aid kid was, "go ahead and sit on the couch while I get the first aid kit, and don't bother with that knife you're hiding on you, I promise I won't try anything. Hero's honor."

"Hero's honor?" Romano stiffened, and kept the knife in place. 'Hero's honor' meant little in his world. The America in that world was the only one he could trust, the one who made everything bearable. The couch was soft and comfortable, unlike the stiff, old straw ones that were most common. Only the sneaky or wealthy could afford actual foam cushions manufactured before the End War. "The knife is just for comfort." He could imagine Feli in his mind, shouting 'weakness'.

America re-entered the living room carrying a large box of medical supplies. He sighed, placing the the box on the coffee in front of the couch and without another word, began to remove all weapons he had on his person and set them down next to the box. Two pistols. A switchblade. His pocket change, if only to show that his pockets were, in fact, empty. He stepped back, his hands held up as if showing off a display. "There. that's all I have on me. You wanted to trust me and here you go. I don't know how things operate in your world, but we have a thing about honor and promises here. I want to help you, and there is nothing I can possibly gain from doing otherwise so… ah, chill out?" He'd never been good at speeches, but he felt he'd made his point.

"There are no promises in war." Romano studied the weapons before gently putting the tiny knife down next to America's pistols. He then reached into his boots and withdrew several daggers and untied the string connected to the vial of poison he kept around his neck. He then met America's eyes and forced himself to relax. "You confuse me."

"Right back at ya." A bit of wry humor twinkled in America's eyes despite how tense everything was. Slowly, as if trying to approach a wild animal without scaring it off, he came forward and sat on the couch. Reaching into the box and pulling out the necessary supplies, he went about cleaning and dressing the cuts on the Italian's body, ranging in severity from minor nicks to serious gashes at risk of infection. Chewing his lip absentmindedly as he worked, he did his best to be as gentle as possible, which took a lot of effort and concentration. Canada was the one better known for his tenderness.

Romano didn't make any noise as he watched America work. He was clumsy and inexperienced, but he seemed to be honestly trying his best. It baffled him. Just then, something loud and shrill rang and Romano jerked away, scrambling over the back of the couch and landing on his feet, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Whoa! Calm down!" America held his hands up in a placating gesture. "It's just the phone." Eyes trained warily on the borderline panicking Italian, he slowly went to answer the phone, trying to communicate with his eyes that everything was okay. "Hello?" he said into the receiver.

"America! It's me, Italy!" Italy's voice was pitched with near hysteria. "I can't find Romano anywhere, and me, Germany, Spain, and Prussia have been looking everywhere! We tried everyone and no one has seen him!" He choked, sounding on the verge of tears. "Ve, please tell me you've seen him!"

"Whoa! Hey, calm down, it's okay, Italy!" America flinched as the country's name fell out of his mouth on its own accord. He didn't know how this Romano would react to North Italy looking for him, even though by now he should know better than to think that the nations of this world were anything like the nations of his world, but still… Nervously, he covered the mouthpiece of his phone and turned to Romano. "Your-ah, _my_ Romano's brother is looking for you-er, him. I can tell him I haven't seen either of you, but I feel he should be involved. He is really worried about his brother, after all. It's up to you." He looked to him expectantly. In the background, Italy's sobs were so loud they could be heard throughout the room.

Romano took a sharp breath and stood up, wrapping his arms around himself, feeling the wounds sing in protest. The whip marks on his back ached and his bruised arms made a pitiful shield. Again he heard Feliciano's voice scream, 'weakness!' This Feliciano was crying though. It was…eerie to hear his brother cry. Feliciano never cried. He was cold and hard and Romano helped make him that way. "It's fine," he said at last. "Let him know. There's no point in keeping this secret."

Nodding slowly, America turned back to the phone in his hand. "Italy? Italy, shhh, calm down and listen," he said kindly and waited for the Italian at the other end of the line to quiet down a little. "Romano's here, with me, but!" he said, stopping the other from rejoicing, "there's a problem, and it'd be better if you came here and heard it in person. I'm at my New York address, and bring the others with you too. Oh, and England, too, okay? Kay, bye!" He said the last part in a rush and hung up before anymore questions could be asked. Putting the phone back on its charger, he turned his attention back to Romano, walking up to him and gently bringing the other's arms back down to his sides. "C'mon, stop this," he said gently, rubbing a soothing circle pattern into the back of Romano's hand, one of the few places not covered by a bruise. "You're hurting yourself." Slowly, he led the man back to the couch and resumed his work.

"It makes no difference." Romano allowed himself to be led back to the couch. "The wounds always sting." Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "I have to remind him of that as well." He stared at the way America's thumb moved across the back of his hand. It was cruel, and regardless if it was weak, he reclaimed his hand and turned his eyes to look out the window. The sky was clear an sunny, the buildings were tall, and it was so full of life.

"Him?" America asked before he could stop himself. It wasn't any of his business and would no doubt upset Romano. Trying to pretend he hadn't said anything at all, he began working on another cut, this one on the other's chest, muttering something about getting ice for the Italian's bruises.

Romano watched him for a second. "My America." He stared at the way this America handled him as if he were made of glass, despite the clumsy and at times painful way of treating wounds. This America was so light: blue eyes, blond hair, and a bright smile. His America was dark. Dark skinned, dark hair, sunglasses instead of the square rims this one wore. "My America is the one good thing in my world, and even then that's debatable."

America paused, looking into Romano's eyes. Sure he'd suspected that there was something going on between his alternate self and this Romano, but to hear it confirmed was different. He grinned, returning to his task. "With the way you talk about him, I must be one hell of a disappointment, right?" He chuckled self-depreciatingly, but with no real bitterness. Something about hearing Romano speak so fondly of someone, even with the awkwardness of that someone being his alternate self, put him a little more at ease with the Italian.

"No…" That wasn't it. He wasn't disappointed, just thrown off balance. "You're different is all. My America doesn't trust and he doesn't like to eat. The England of my world used to try and poison him when he was younger so he only eats if it comes prepackaged or if I make it." Romano wasn't sure why he said it, but he missed his America. His dark, damaged America. It helped to talk about him, part of him getting lost in the memories. In this world, America and Romano weren't together, and Feli loved him….or rather, his other self.

"Heh, my England's pretty much the same, only the poisoning's unintentional." America chuckled, then grimaced. "Ah, sorry, that joke was probably in poor taste." He flashed an embarrassed grin at Romano before fishing out some ointment from the first aid box and started applying it gently to a scab on Romano's collar bone. "My Romano, well, he's not _my_ Romano… he's a bit of a spitfire. Quick to yell at you if you're being a dumbass, but you can tell he likes you anyway. He's not one to trust real easily, kind of like you in that sense." He rubbed absentmindedly at the skin surrounding the scab. "A bit rough around the edges, but he works hard for his people and his family… he's a real good guy, you know?"

"Feliciano will crush him then." The words hung like cinder blocks in the air and he looked blankly into America's eyes. He wasn't challenging him, just preparing him. If they wanted their Romano back, they shouldn't have expected to get him back whole or even sane.

America froze, then jerked his hands back, letting them clench into white-knuckled fists in his lap. His eyes hardened, darkening from their usual bright shade into the dark blue of a turbulent sea. More than anything he wanted to throttle the man before him for predicting such a dark fate for the Romano of his world. To banish that confidence from his oddly flat voice with a well aimed fist backed by all his inhuman strength.

He couldn't. He was better than that. And more than anything, he had a feeling that Romano was right. In a world where Feliciano was just as threatening on a daily basis as the Russia of his world at the height of the Soviet Union, what hope was there for his world's Romano? But a part of him still hoped. It was in his nature. After all, he knew better than most that even though this world seemed so much better than that one, nations were still capable of doing what was necessary to stay alive. Japan's twin scars adorning his back were enough to prove America's own sins.

"You're angry." Romano watched the other nation's eyes darken and he looked so much like his America in that moment, that he got the sudden urge to touch his face. His fingers twitched, but he held them back. This wasn't his America. "I'm not trying to make you upset. I'm telling you the truth. Feliciano has grown more paranoid and scared over the years. As his fratello, it's my responsibility to him and our country to keep him alive. In our world, one moment of weakness, one second of emotion and you die, so I let him take it out on me. It's better if he enters battle with a clear head and no frustrations. Ever since the last attack he's been getting worse, and if your Romano is anything like what I heard of this world's Feliciano…" he didn't finish. Didn't have to.

America willed his rage to calm down enough for him to unclench his fists, but it still clouded his eyes as he looked up. He still didn't have the ability to speak, but as his mouth stayed still, his mind was working at a mile a minute. He surveyed Romano's face closely, processed his words. The other world was quite literally insane, but that may work to his world's Romano's advantage. His Romano was still, to his knowledge, completely sane, and, being the part of the nation containing the bulk of the Italian mafia, he was capable of handling himself in a fight between people, even though that may not be the case once armies got involved. His Romano was sharp as a knife, able to call people out on their weaknesses, and while he was normally too nice (though he would never admit it) to exploit these weaknesses, America was sure he could if he wanted to. If anything else, he was one fast as hell bastard in retreat. He took a deep breath, calming himself, and gave Romano one of his best and brightest grins. "I'm gonna have to disagree with you on this one. I have faith in my Lovi."

"Then in all honesty I hope you're right. Or at the very least I hope either Russia or my America finds him before anyone else." Romano saw the rage burn in this America's eyes, and he knew that if they were to fight, he would be easily overpowered. Then whatever gods ruled this world decided to spare him any more of those thoughts as a knock on the door interrupted.

"That's them." America stood and made his way towards the door. He'd barely taken three steps before the group outside his door got tired of knocking and barged into his apartment, first England, then Germany, Prussia, Spain, and then-

"Lovi!" Feliciano cried, but froze when he took in the battered appearance of the other. Whether it was because his vision was blocked by tears, or the high levels of stress, North Italy was unable to recognize that this was not his brother, only that there was a Romano in the room and he was seriously injured. "Lovino!" With a sob, he flung himself at the older Italian, clinging onto him and blubbering out, "I was so worried, and you're hurt and who did this to you, but you're alive and I was so scaaaaaaared!"

Quickly, America rushed forward and pulled Italy off of the other world's Romano. He was half afraid the man would stab poor Feliciano with one of the many daggers that covered his coffee table. Italy looked to America, then to Romano with confusion.

"Feli?" Romano stood up, his eyes wide and childlike. This nation looked just like his brother, but he was wearing _civilian_ clothing. He didn't understand. Feliciano had to be armed at all times, but this one wasn't at all. He was just standing there, looking confused. His eyes were a soft chocolate brown, with no hard edge to them, no paranoia or terror. This was what his Feliciano could be. He stepped toward him and cupped Feliciano's face in his hands, searching his face with a slight frown. His fratello without war, without having to deal with the constant threat of being overtaken…

"Lovi, we're so glad you're okay!" Romano whipped around and saw Spain approaching. Spain, the one who wanted them since the beginning of the End War, who had taken everything from them when they were too young to fight back, and everything in his world came back. His duty to protect. He reacted before he even had a chance to comprehend. He grabbed one of America's pistols off of the table and shoved Feliciano into a corner. Bracing himself in front of his brother, he held the gun at the other nations, calculating who he could kill before he was overtaken.

"Stay back." His voice was calm. No panic. Panic got you killed or worse. It was always calm calculation that kept you alive.

The room froze. To most present, the day one of the _Italy Brothers_ pulled a gun on you and managed to look menacing while doing so was the same exact day hell froze over.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! :D **


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, so here's daily update number three as proof that we are alive, which is basically what this little story has become. Thank you so much for the lovely reviews everyone! It's more than anyone could ask for, especially for a silly RP such as this. **

**I don't own Hetalia and America was written not by me. **

* * *

"Are you out of your bloody mind?" England sputtered in disbelief.

That seemed to shake everyone else out of their shock, but still they were still at a loss as to what to do. Spain looked horrified and hurt beyond belief. Italy was just plain horrified pinned between the wall and Romano's back. Germany tensed, his blue eyes focused on Italy, seconds away from taking action. While Prussia and England mirrored each other's expressions, their mouths agape in shock and their eyes wide.

But it was America who, true to his claims, swooped in to save the day.

"Romano…_Lovino_, it's okay." He inched forward carefully, damned if he got shot with one of his own guns. "Spain's your friend here. Everyone here is your friend. You don't have to worry about Feliciano, or yourself, or me, or anything here. It's _okay_." By now he was directly in front of Romano, so close that he blocked everyone else from the Italian's aim.

"Fratello." Italy reached out a trembling hand and touched Romano's back. Romano stiffened at the familiar and yet at the same time, alien feel of his brother's hands. His eyes remained glued to America as the taller nations slowly reached up and wrapped his fingers round the barrel of his gun, waiting for Romano to release it. He could have just torn it away, and Romano was left wondering why he didn't. Why hesitate and show weakness? Now would be the perfect time to shoot, but as much as his fingers tensed, he found he couldn't pull the trigger. "Lovi," he heard Feliciano whisper. "Don't. It's okay. P-Please...put the gun down." Feliciano telling him not to shoot was surreal enough as it was without the sudden freeze up of his own body.

The others present watched with baited breaths.

"Lovino." America's voice was quiet, though not gentle.

Romano nearly flinched at the sound of his human name. In his world human names were used as taunts by their bosses and other nations, to remind them that they weren't invincible, that they were no better than humans with an unnaturally long life, but Romano looked into America's eyes and and then down to the gun in his hands. He didn't want to pull the trigger, not that he ever did in the first place. This world was different. It was becoming a world of opposites. First there was the waking up in a fully intact city, then it was the lavishness of this America's apartment, now this. Countries, who in his world, would have liked nothing more than to rip him and his fratello limb from limb, were now his friends. Germany was fine. He and Japan were the closest things his Feliciano had to friends, but it was Spain.

_Spain…._

Slowly he let his fingers loosen from around the gun.

America smiled proudly as he took his pistol out of Romano's now loose grasp, but for once, it wasn't for himself, but for the man in front of him. That pleasant feeling was short lived, however, when no longer at risk of getting shot, a livid Germany and England accompanied by at tearful Spain, rushed forward, demanding to know what the hell was going on. America darted in front of Romano, shielding him from their relentless questions. Now he finally understanding the frustration Germany felt trying to keep a hectic meeting room under control. "Shut up! All of you! If you wanna know what's going on, then listen for one fucking second!"

The all quieted down, surprised at America's seriousness.

America sighed, feeling tired. He'd been showing a lot of his serious side today, and he was sure it wasn't going away any time soon. So, taking a deep breath, America explained the situation as best as he could. That this Romano wasn't the Romano of their world and that their Romano was most likely trapped in an alternate universe whose nations were cruel and absolutely insane. When he was finished, all he received was a stunned silence.

"Oh, bloody hell…" England breathed, half stunned, half horrified, and he seemed to speak for everyone else.

Hesitantly, Italy eased himself out from behind Romano and, standing at a safe distance, said, "The other Lovi's my brother, but you're my brother, too, Lovi…please let us help you. I promise we won't hurt you."

Romano's instinct told him to shrink away from oncoming harm, but like with his Feliciano, he held it at bay. Instead he stepped to the side in a way that strategically placed him between this Feliciano and Spain. It was a habit, something he'd done every time they had business with the other nation, but this Spain was crying. It sickened him. Tears gave you nothing. He felt like a fool. His knives were still on the table and he'd given up the gun. Germany glared at him, and Romano took a few steps to the right. It was a rule his boss had given him. Always be between Feli and other nations, always be ready for an attack.

"I don't think he likes me." Spain sniffled a bit.

"Italy, come away from him." Germany held out his hand, gesturing for Italy to come back to him.

Romano snarled something in Italian that made Feliciano gasp and burst into tears.

America, who had a great deal of Italian immigrants within his borders, understood the threat that had just been directed at the other blue-eyed blond in the room. Even he felt a little intimidated by it, but now that everyone understood what was going on, things had to get moving. The more time wasted here, the more time his-_their_ Romano had to fend for himself in the other world.

Without thinking, he grabbed Romano's hand to sooth the Italian's nerves as much as his own. He cupped the shorter man's face in his other hand and leaned in close, looking him right in the eye. "I really need you to calm down, please. I can keep the others in check, but you need to do that for yourself. The rules are different here, Romano. All we want is your cooperation. We just want our Romano back. Don't you want to see your Alfred?" he said that last part as quietly as he could so that only Romano could hear, he figured it was no one else's business and would only lead to more confusion.

In the background, England spoke up. "Ahem, I may have a spell that could at least locate our Romano." He tapped his chin thoughtfully, and for once the others looked to him with hope instead of disbelief.

America grinned, letting go of Romano. "That's good to hear! So what do you have in mind?" He left Romano to his own thoughts as he went over to listen to England's idea.

There were too many people in the room, and Romano made a dash for his uniform, pulling it on. He collected all of his knives and shoving them all in his boots and sleeves where they belonged. Feliciano had drifted after him and gently touched his shoulder. It was so alien for his brother to have any sort of gentleness about him, and despite everything, Romano found himself liking this brother. "I didn't mean to make you cry," he said in Italian.

"It's okay." Feliciano wiped his eyes. "You're just scared is all." Romano couldn't find it in himself to deny it, because he was. He could only imagine the state of his Feliciano's mind right now. Three days alone...he shuddered.

"Well, let's hear this idea you have," Spain said tearfully. "We need our Lovi back." Romano wished they'd stop saying his human name in such a shorthand fashion, like they were familiar with him, or in his world's standards, mocking him. He looked at America, blond America, and again he looked so much like his America in the way he held himself that it took all of Romano's self-restraint not to run into his arms.

"Well, we could think of this as a trading spell of sorts," explained England, trying to say it in a way that would be easily understood by everyone in the room, "one item is exchanged for another. Usually this spell would take place on the same plane-er, universe, but in this case it's not. The trade has taken place in two universes."

"So…wouldn't that make it harder to reverse the trade?" asked Prussia.

"Technically, yes," the others deflated, "But," they perked up again, "in this case…essentially the _same item_ was traded. So…it shouldn't be too difficult…I hope…"

"You hope?" America repeated.

"That doesn't sound very promising," said Germany doubtfully.

"Well, if you'd let me explain myself!" England was on the full verge of one of his outbursts when America laid a hand on his shoulder, quietly pleading with him to stay calm and quiet down. England took a deep breath and sent a small smile the American's way. He never thought he'd see the day that America of all people would be the voice of reason, "the body is the same, but the soul inside is not. If not done right, we could end up with just the body back, but with the souls scattered to the winds."

Everyone paled.

"We need a powerful tracking and locking spell to be placed on the both of them in order to ensure the trade is reversed without any major tragedy, but er…" England paused, gulping a bit, "the tracking spell requires the lost person's blood."

Though they wanted to, they didn't look at Romano. The same thought ran through each of their minds: Same body. Different soul.

Same body…

"No." America moved protectively in front of Romano once again. "There has to be another way." The only outcome of trying to get blood out of this Romano would be everyone else getting a knife in their throat.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Next update will be tomorrow! :D This is a challenge keeping up with this, but it will be done! Reviews are like sparkles. Thank you so much! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay, so here's daily update number four! Thank you to all the new people that reviewed! It really means a lot, so here's hoping more people will come! Hoping this gets to 30 reviews by tomorrow's next post! Can we do it? It's 11 reviews so it might be tricky but here's hoping. **

**As for Feliciano's back story and why he's so cray cray, well, you all shall see in due time. Bwuahaha. **

**I don't own Hetalia and America was not written by me but by the lovely Jetsir. **

* * *

Romano backed away from the other nations. "You want my blood? Will that send me back, or will it just show you where the other Romano is?" Romano's eyes narrowed. They were not going to cut him. Not even a nick. He'd been cut enough in his life, and regardless if it was unreasonable enough.

England pursed his lips. "W-well, it will only tell us where the other you is, but once we know that, then the spell to switch the two of you back will be simple and painless, honest!" He stepped forward, hand outstretched, but America threw and arm out without any intention of moving away from Romano.

"England, I said no." The look on Romano's face told America that he was in no mood to cooperate, not when it involved getting sliced and sampled.

England's thick brows furrowed. "But, Alfred-"

"Find another spell," America said, an order clear in his tone.

"Hey, Artie." Prussia spoke up, his red eyes narrowing as he tapped his chin in thought. "I'm no magic guru, but can't you just like, open a one way window into the other world just to see what it's like? If you can, from there we can figure out what to do next."

Romano studied America's back and then watched the other nation's cautiously. He like this Prussia's idea, though in his world Prussia was colder than even Feliciano and nearly as ruthless when it came to keeping Germany in line. However, Feliciano could be blamed for most of Germany's scars.

England's frown relaxed into a thoughtful expression. "Hmmm, yes. I suppose that is a good plan, surprisingly enough." He ignored Prussia's indignant snort. "Well regardless, I'll need my spellbooks, all of which are at home. I need to go back to England to make some preparations. I assume you're all staying here for the next round of meetings coming up?"

"That's why we were nearby in the first place." Germany ran a hand over his slicked back hair. "I'm not sure how we're going to tell everyone that our Romano is trapped in an alternate hell dimension."

"Ve, I'm sure they'll understand!" Italy said. "For now though, I think we need to get back to our hotel."

America nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

Italy bounced forward to Romano. "Lovi, you should come with us! Then we can get you fresh clothes that will fit you!" Not thinking, he reached forward, grabbing the other by his hurt wrist.

America tensed, bracing for the inevitable retaliation, but none came. Romano didn't react except for the slight tightening of his eyes that could have been more attributed to pain rather than actual malice. The thought of Romano getting beaten down and not defending himself made something vile rise up from the pit of his stomach.

"This uniform is fine. I need to be armed at all times, Feli." Romano almost added, _You should know that. It's your rule,_ but held it in. He had to remember that this wasn't his Feliciano. He looked down at the tattered blue sash around his waist and the grey jacket. His beret still remained firmly on his head and his boots were scuffed but relatively clean. They would be fine.

"Italy, I don't feel comfortable with you taking him," Germany said. "He's not like this world's Romano."

Sensing the oncoming crying and begging of the younger Italian from a mile away, America stepped in with a kind smile and gently wrapped an arm around Italy's shoulders. "He can stay with me, Feli. He'll be fine here, I promise. You have this hero's word!"

Pouting, and clearly not at all happy, Italy let out a sigh. "Okay…" He looked to Romano. "But if you need anything, Lovi, or if you just want to talk, Alfredo has my number!" He moved forward to hug the nation, but both America and Germany pulled him back.

"We'll be back as soon as we can," said Germany. The others nodded, and with that, they all left, Italy shouting cries of "Goodbye Lovi! I love you!" until he was out of earshot.

Now alone with the other Romano, America turned to him, not entirely sure what to say.

Romano met America's eyes, unflinching. "I have something I want to ask you." His eyes narrowed, but his heart ached. He was far past the point of being overwhelmed. Had it been anyone else, he was sure they would have succumbed to the culture shock, but he had made himself strong. He just needed this one thing. "It's a favor."

America tensed at the other's unflinching gaze, but he didn't look away. He chewed the inside of his lip thoughtfully, then released it, deciding that if he couldn't give the Italian what he was looking for, then he wasn't at fault. "What is it?"

Romano stared into those unsettling blue eyes, changing them to red, and painting over the blond with a dark brown that was almost black in certain lights. Inside he wanted to weep. Everything was too much, and he felt himself fraying, being pulled in all different directions. He wanted an anchor, even if it was different from the one he truly wanted. His eyes remained cold and clinical. "Will you hold me just for a minute?"

Honestly, America wasn't sure what he'd expected. One of his guns to keep on his person, maybe, but to cuddle? That certainly caught him off guard. He thought about all the knives that the other nation had. And those eyes, no sense of vulnerability to be found, just coldness. But something in Alfred really wanted to hold the smaller nation. He couldn't help but wonder if it was the affections of the other Alfred coming in from the other side. "Alright," he said, moving forward and slowly wrapping his arms around the other in a gentle embrace.

Romano let his chin rest on America's shoulder. It fit just like with his America, and he closed his eyes. For a moment, he let everything down: his cold observation, his caution, and every muscle relaxed. The sense of safety he had with America returned, and once again he felt as if nothing could touch him. He held America tighter._ I miss you_, he thought to himself.

America listened to the Italian's words, quite positive that the other hadn't meant to say them out loud. He said nothing, instead coiling his arm around the other's waist and rubbing comforting circles into his back. This Romano smelled of blood, gunpowder and despair. Even if the other experienced a thousand years of peace, he wondered if that scent would ever go away. He thought of his own Romano, who wasn't his, trapped all alone in that cruel, other world. While his people were, America never considered himself a man of God, but right now, he was praying for his Romano's safety. He held the other Romano closer, his head leaning against the other's, holding on for as long as the the Italian wanted him to.

Romano allowed himself this luxury for a few more minutes, blinking away the sheen of tears that had built up in his eyes. They were gone by command and he stepped back, offering this America a grateful nod. "I appreciate that." He could survive now. He had that to keep going, a place where his mind could retreat to should things become unbearable. "Now, when will they return?"

America gave a small shrug."I'm not sure… Germany doesn't seem to trust you, so he might take a while to try and convince Feli to be more careful." No need to hide anything. "And Arthur's library is chock-full of those old, musty spell books, not to mention whatever material he needs to gather. I don't expect to hear back from any of them until tomorrow, maybe even the day after." He looked at his watch. "It's late. I have a room you can sleep in, if you'd like." He looked at the other expectantly.

Romano looked at him oddly. "You don't sleep in shifts?" This world was surprising him more and more, but sleeping alone, and not in shifts…that was just plain irresponsible.

America simply shook his head. They slept in shifts in the other world? How crazy was that place? And who was helping their Romano sleep? America felt his own dread build at the thought. "Come on, follow me." He ventured deeper into the apartment and stopped at a door. He opened the door wide to reveal a guest bedroom with a queen-sized bed and its own bathroom.

Once again Romano trembled.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Next update will be tomorrow! :D Here's hoping we reach 30 guys! And next time we see poor 2p!Romano deal with culture shock. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, so here's daily update number five! We did it! We did it! We reached 30 reviews! I'm so proud of all our readers! Thank you so much for all the wonderful support for this story! Now let's hope we reach 40! We got this! We got this! **

**And no worries. We will see how poor Romano is faring soon enough. **

**I don't own Hetalia and America was not written by me but by the lovely Jetsir. **

* * *

Romano looked around the room, carefully inspecting everything, going through the sheets, and running his hands along the doors.

"Um, looking for something?" America asked.

"Bugs." Romano realized as soon as he said it, how ridiculous that probably sounded to America's other self, but ignored it.

"I don't think you have to worry about that here." The right side of America's mouth pulled back in a grimace as Romano pawed through his underwear drawer, flinging red, white and blue boxers to the floor.

"You say that, then get a sniper bullet through the skull." Romano made his way into the bathroom and turned the tap to the sink, jumping back when he saw that there was running water. He leaned forward a bit, running his fingers under the spray. Not only was there running water, but it looked like _clean_ running water. He looked over at America. "You use this room for guests?" Even though Feliciano was well known for his hospitality when seducing potential allies, not even he gave them the room with the running water. It was far too valuable.

"Yes, and my brother Matthew, but we have more of a mi casa es tu casa deal." He pointed to a closed door across the hall. "That's my room. If you need anything during the night I'll be in there. I'm a light sleeper so all you have to do is knock." Contrary to popular belief, America _was_ a light sleeper. A decades long Cold War could do that to a nation.

"I would rather we were in the same room." Romano met America's eyes, standing up straight with his arms clasped behind his back in the classic soldier stance. "Sleeping in shifts would be better, not to mention safer." Never in his life had he slept alone. He and Feliciano had always slept in the same bed, each taking half the night to watch the other. After the ordeal they faced as children, sleeping alone was suicide.

America paused, then acquiesced, a small part of him wondering why he was going so far to accommodate the Italian. "All right then, we'll share the bed and take shifts," he'd done so before, he was a young country, only existing for a little over 200 years, but most of those years had been spent at war.

Romano nodded curtly and stepped into America's room, ignoring the luxury and taking off his boots. He slipped out a knife from his sleeve and crawled onto the foot of America's bed, curling his knees to his chest and staring at the far wall.

He followed him, taking a seat on the mattress a little ways away from the Italian. He considered asking him whether or not he wanted a shower, or even a change of clothes, but knew the other would refuse. "I'll take the first watch," he announced, his tone not conveying just how ridiculous he thought this all was. Ridiculous and surreal. At the foot of his bed lay a nation that thought the entire world was at war, and nothing he could say, do or show the other could convince him otherwise.

"Are you sure?" Romano asked. "I usually take the first watch. Feli always does better later in the night." He clutched his knife and watched America, unable to suppress his trembling. He hated the night. It was in the night that all those centuries ago, Spain took them both, and used them as playthings for England, Hungary, and Austria. The memories drifted across his vision like angry ghosts, of he and Feliciano huddled together with only their shit-stained rags to keep them warm in the dank dungeon. He hoped America couldn't see how effected he was. Though he hadn't slept since coming to this world and his body begged him for it.

America forced himself not to react to the completely haunted look that crossed the other's face. Everything in his being told him to go and hug the other like he'd done before, but he refrained. Now wasn't the time. Instead he gave a shrug. "I don't mind. I usually stay up later than this anyway. It's one of the weird things about having the body of a teenager. I don't like to sleep at the correct hours." A slight smile tugged at his lips at his own joke. "Seriously though, get some rest." He wanted to comment that it looked as if the other hadn't slept in days, which was probably true, but he didn't think Romano would appreciate him pointing out what could be viewed as a vulnerability.

Romano gave a slight nod and laid down on the pillows, clutching the knife to his chest and staring at the wall. He knew America was a good partner to have as a sleep guard, but that didn't help the fact that he was sleeping in unfamiliar territory, and he could only imagine how terrified Feli must be having to sleep alone. His brother was cruel, cold, and a monster, but you had to be that way to be on top of the world. "I…hope my fratello is okay."

"I'm sure he is," America said gently, soothingly. Even though the other Feliciano had done horrible, unforgivable things to this Romano, the man still cared for his younger brother. No matter what world he was in, what history took place there, Romano was still a caring person, nothing could change that. America smiled, "now sleep," he whispered, "I've got your back.

"All he's known is pain, so that's all he can give," Romano whispered, unsure why. His eyelids drooped and closed, his body finally giving out on him and allowing sleep to come.

America stared at Romano's sleeping form. He frowned. Even in sleep the Italian still didn't look at peace. He sat back, his head resting on the headboard of his bed, and chewed on his lip. He knew how shifts worked, and how that wasn't nearly the amount of sleep the other needed. So America sat up, squaring his shoulders, and stared off into the darkness, letting the Romano sleep for the whole night.

Romano shifted all night. In his dreams he remembered Feliciano screaming for him, his battered face streaked with tears as he was taken by Austria and Hungary.

_"Lovi! Lovi! No! Fratello!" _Feliciano's tiny hands, the fingernails cracked and bleeding from his struggles, grasped at empty air for him. Held under Austria's arm he was taken from their cell.

And Romano had watched, his shoulders gripped cruelly by Spain while the older nation loomed over him. "Don't worry about your hermano. He'll be treated much better now that we all know what to do with you." But when Romano finally saw him again, Feliciano had been a shadow, his eyes dead, and Romano realized as horrible as Spain had been, he'd gotten lucky. It was then he held his bloodied and broken brother.

_I promise you,_ he whispered. _I promise you this will never happen again. I…I will protect you._

_Lovino…_ Feliciano looked up at him, dark smudges under his eyes and a new cruelness burning inside. _Don't make me a promise you can't keep._

Romano opened his eyes and realized his face was wet with tears.

It had been a long night of watching Romano twist and turn in his sleep. Just when America thought it was bad enough that he should wake him, the other would quiet, going still from the exhaustion of his own nightmare. It was around ten in the morning when the worst of the nightmares hit, tears streaming down Romano's face as he writhed in his sleep. This time America couldn't help himself, gathering the other in his arms and pulling him into his lap. He began rocking slightly, murmuring sweet nothings about safety and comfort to the other. When Romano's teary eyes opened, his concerned ones stared back. He didn't let him go.

Romano's vision came back blurry, but he felt familiar arms around him and saw the shadow of a face he longed to see. For a moment, he forgot where he was, and he wrapped his arms around the other's neck and hid his face in his shoulder, trembling and trying to pull himself back together. Feliciano would beat him senseless if he knew, not that Romano was afraid of that. But he couldn't be weak and let others take advantage of him. He had to make it up to his brother, to show him he wouldn't be taken like that again, and that he didn't have to be scared. He forced himself to calm down, reigning into his emotions while clinging to America.

"Shhh…it's okay…you're safe here," America cooed, rubbing the other's back as he trembled in his arms. He continued to rock them back and forth, humming the melody of a lullaby that he'd learned long ago and had long since forgotten the words. "It's okay, I've got you," he held Romano close to him protectively, trying to create a bubble of comfort around them. "You have nothing to worry about..shhh.."

Romano pulled back, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. "Weakness," he hissed out, repeating Feliciano's mantra in his mind. "I need to stop this." He handle of the knife felt heavy in his hand. It was almost a relief. Whenever Feliciano had nightmares, his brother always gave a quick slash to the chest to remind him he wasn't weak, but Romano couldn't do that to America, so instead he got up of the bed and stabbed the wall.

America flinched as the knife embedded itself in his wall, he stood, approaching Romano slowly. He didn't touch him, but he stood close enough to feel the other's body heat, "are you alright?" he asked quietly, though he knew the answer. The other wasn't alright, he probably hadn't been alright in a very long time. He stood there, unsure of what to do, but ready to help the other in anyway he could.

Romano took a shaky breath, his fingers flexing on the handle of the knife. "It was..." his voice was hoarse. "Feliciano…" He dragged the knife down the drywall, leaving a sizable gap. "They world…the world turned him into a monster and now he's alone…he's alone…I..promised…."

He wasn't thinking anymore. His body acting on auto-pilot, America moved forward. His hand closed over Romano's on the handle of the knife as he placed a soft kiss on the other's lips. He pulled back, wrapping the other in a one-armed embrace then said, in a gruff tone that was his voice, yet wasn't, "'Nuffa this bullshit. You can't blame yerself for what ya can't control." And then he was back in control, stumbling backwards as his head spun. He landed on his back on the floor, gasping for air and the wind knocked out of him.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Next update will be tomorrow! :D Go for the 40! I know it's late, but go for the 40! No worries though. The daily update will be just that. the daily update. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, so here's daily update number six! So we've done it friends. This story has reached 40 reviews. You all are awesome! I'm gonna pray for 55, but do not feel pressured to review if you don't want to. This story will continue it's daily updates regardless. It would just mean a lot and make me cry rivers of joy. **

**I don't own Hetalia and America was not written by me but by the lovely Jetsir. **

* * *

Romano's eyes widened and he released the knife handle, flinching as America fell backwards. He hurried forward and knelt by America's side, pushing the other nation back as he tried to sit up. "Keep your legs flat." This was enough to shock him out of the dream and bring back his cool resolve. Keeping one hand pressed to America's shoulder he took a deep breath, gesturing that America follow his lead. Deep even breaths. He'd had the wind knocked out of him plenty of times.

America was vaguely aware of Romano coaching him back into a steady rate of breathing, but his real focus was on analyzing what had just happened. Had he just been possessed by the other America? No, that didn't seem quite right. Now that he thought about it, he had been in control of his body, he'd just done something that wasn't characteristic of him. The other America's essense, maybe? That would explain his need to protect and care for Romano way past the normal call of duty. Perhaps it just…slipped through? Romano seemed to have been in a very bad place back there, well, more so than usual. Had they been lovers, America was sure he would've done the same thing in his own way. He sat up, breathing normally. Other than a dull ache in his head, more due to the confusing thoughts churning within it than anything else, he felt okay. "I'm okay."

"What was that?" Romano stared at him blankly.

America shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I dunno…while I don't think he's possessing me… I think your America's essence is coming through, if that makes sense." He frowned, trying to explain it better."Since I've met you..I've felt occasional bursts of protectiveness over you…I trusted you without even having to stop to think about it…I felt the need to hold you, comfort you… do more for you than I would for a stranger..or even my Romano since we're not, you know. It didn't make sense to me but now it kinda does…a little…. I think… I think…" He groaned, holding his aching head. "Who am I kidding? I have no idea what the hell just happened." He hoped England would be ready to come over soon, maybe he could make sense of all of this.

Romano's eyes narrowed. "That is strange." He stood up and retrieved his knife from the wall and sat down on the bed. "You let me sleep all night."

America nodded, glad to focus his mind on simpler thoughts. "You looked like you needed it."

"That was irresponsible of you." Romano looked down at his knife and saw his withered reflection on the blade. He looked so old, so tired. The kiss still lingered on his lips, and his heart lurched unpleasantly. "You won't be in top condition today."

America bit back an irritated sigh. He knew he couldn't blame the other for his constant state of paranoia, but that small part of him, the other America he supposed, wanted Romano to know that he was safe here. An impossible feat, it seemed. He stood, making his way to his dresser and pulled out a change of clothes for himself. He looked back over his shoulder. "You should take a shower."

"A shower?" Romano watched the other America for a moment. "Wouldn't that use a lot of water? Don't you have a wash basin?"

America simply shook his head. "It'll be fine, trust me." He regarded the other thoughtfully, maybe he could convince the other that this place was secure. Little by little. Baby steps. He pulled out some more clothes and handed them to Romano, "you can change into these when you're done." They were the smallest he had, and he still had a feeling they'd swallow Romano up.

Romano studied the clothes thoughtfully. A hooded jacket, shirt, and some sweat pants. They were quality from what he could tell, perhaps even better quality than his uniform. Which was ridiculous, especially for civilian clothes. All of their resources went into their security, but here there seemed to be so much more to life than war. The sleeves didn't look promising to hide the knives he had, but he'd manage, and he refused to part with his boots. "I see," he said. "Take me to the bathroom, then."

"Sure thing." America let Romano to the bathroom, which was quite large, even for his own tastes. A double sink, a soak tub, a spacious shower and a toilet, all shiny and looking brand new all arranged tastefully within walls painted the same color as the sky. He looked to Romano. "Here it is."

Had Romano been a weaker nation he might have hyperventilated at how luxurious it was. Even his and Feliciano's best paled in comparison. And this was just an apartment! He dreaded to think what a house in this world would be and for a moment he wondered what would have happened to him if he and Feli had grown up in this world. Would he be a different person? It killed him to think that he didn't know the answer. Still, if he hadn't been born in his world then he would have never been with America. Romano studied everything, from the toilets to the large tub that might have been a pool. So much water wasted on just one bath. He turned back to America, partly furious and partly ready to go into a panic. Culture shock, he realized. He was exhibiting all the symptoms of it and it made him angry at himself. He was being weak and letting his emotions get the better of him. "Thank you," he managed to say at last. "I'll be out in a minute."

America wanted to ask Romano what was wrong, but figured maybe this time, what the Italian needed was some time to himself. Nodding, he left Romano to his own devices and went to his room. Stripping down to his underwear, he changed into a fresh shirt and pair of shorts. He yawned. He didn't regret staying up all night to let Romano sleep, but he sure was hating the side-effects of it. Coffee, he needed coffee. He went into the kitchen, getting a pot going, and leaned back against the counters, arms crossed, waiting.

Romano frowned and studied the taps and twisted them. The water came out warm. Glancing around the room one last time, he began to strip. He took a fast shower, no more than three minutes, lathering himself up and rinsing before he turned off the water. Washing was meant to be quick, just to keep yourself relatively clean, not something to laze about in. He dried himself off with a towel and stared at the civilian clothing. He didn't like this. Not one bit. He put them on anyway, even though they were a tad too big, and proceeded to place his knives to the best of his ability. Then he returned to the kitchen where America was drinking…was that coffee?

America looked up when Romano entered the kitchen, perhaps not looking better, but definitely clean and a bit better rested. Just as he thought, the clothes were practically eating him up. He couldn't help the slightest ghost of a grin pulling at his mouth at that. It was kind of cute, and it made him think of his own Romano, wondering if he'd ever get _him_ into his clothes sometime in the future. "Hey," he said in greeting. "I made coffee, though it's a bit strong." He picked up a mug full of the hot, dark liquid from the counter next to him and placed it a bit closer to the other nation in offering. He took a sip from his own mug, staring at the Italian. Even with how serious everything was, seeing Romano out of his tattered uniform put him a little more at ease.

Romano stared at the coffee in his mug, feeling the warmth of the liquid through his mug. "This must have cost you." He had coffee before when the traders came through, but that was only once or twice a year. America was the one who traded with them the most often for it. He remembered America introducing him to the beverage, how nice he thought it tasted, bitter as it was. He had no idea how trading worked in this world, but coffee certainly had to be a luxury. Then again, if the bathroom was that lavish, coffee might not have been anything special.

America shook his head. "Not really. Coffee's pretty common here." He chuckled quietly. "It's funny, my Romano won't even touch the stuff I make. What did he call it? Ah! A poor excuse for sewer water. I don't blame him, though, his coffee's _amazing_." He smiled brightly, thinking back to a few years ago at a world meeting when his Romano, after gracefully spitting out a mouthful of the coffee America had prepared, had been so offended by the drink that he had dragged America all the way back with him to Italy to show him what proper coffee should taste like. It was one of the rare times he'd ever gotten to spend time alone with the Italian, and even though the man had been glaring harshly and cursing at him, he'd enjoyed every minute of it.

"Our people used to grow it when Feli and I were little," Romano said, staring into the cup. "We hadn't tried it, but after the war started, we couldn't afford the luxury. I regret not trying it when I had the chance. America's coffee is the only one we can. He's…smart enough not to get involved and can grow it." Romano took a sip. It scalded his tongue, though it was almost nice. Familiar.

The smile fell from America's face. He stared into his cup, chewing on his lip. He was curious about the world Romano came from, but he didn't think he had a right to ask. He looked up at Romano, who looked almost, _almost_ pleased drinking his coffee, the whole feel of the kitchen oddly domestic. He felt his heart thump in his chest and a small blush creep at his ears at that thought, the other America again? He really didn't know in this moment which feelings were his and which belonged to the America of Romano's world. He drank the last of his mug in one gulp, wincing as it burned practically every surface in his mouth, before going for another cup.

Romano watched America take another drink of his coffee, and wince at the heat. He looked back down at his cup, his heart pounding in his chest. "Thank you."

"For what?" America turned to face the other, a curious frown on his face.

"This morning." Romano met America's eyes with his usual blank stare. "I appreciate what you did, even though it was a sign of my own weakness."

America's face flushed, his mind going back to the way he'd held Romano during his nightmare, and how he'd comforted him once he'd woken. Then the kiss. That kiss. Even though he wasn't sure if it was him doing it, he'd definitely felt it. His mouth still tingled. As much as he wanted to avert his eyes from Romano's, he couldn't, so he gave a half shrug, stuttering, "It's n-not a problem. Think nothing of it." Breaking away from Romano's gaze he picked up his cup of coffee, sipping from it before commenting, "You know…I don't think you're weak…you're pretty damn strong, actually…"

Romano watched America go, something like disappointment festering in the pits of his stomach. "I'm not sure I see your logic," he said at last, taking another drink of his coffee. America was starting to act strangely, then again, not that Romano would know. He almost seemed evasive, particularly about the kiss.

"You've been to hell and back in that crazy world of yours, suffered beatings at the hands of your brother, taken on some real damage, and yet you still have the balls to pull a gun on a large crowd of sturdy looking nations, especially when you saw them for what they are in your world, not mine," he said almost casually, as his mind drifted to the events of yesterday. "You know what needs to be done and you do it, and while you seem to think feeling sad or scared or lonely makes you _weak_ I say it makes you strong. Strong people are able to acknowledge those feelings and continue to get shit done regardless."

"I suppose so," Romano said a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The movement was so odd he stopped it immediately, feeling uncomfortable. "I just hope your friends will be back soon. I need to make sure my brother is okay and see what damage he's done."

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Next update will be tomorrow! :D Thank you so much! And I shall continue to hope. Thank you all so much! It means so much. **


	7. Romano in 2P World

**I'm so sorry this is so late! D: I didn't mean for it to happen, but you see, it was all for you guys! See, you all wanted to see Romano in 2P World and it wasn't part of the original RP, so I wrote this chapter from scratch JUST FOR YOU! See? You can't hate me now, amirite? And we reached the goal of 55! MAGICAL FUCKING UNICORN TEARS WERE SHED GUYS! FUCKING MAGICAL! So I wrote this for you. I don't even care anymore. **

**Now in this chapter, we get to see the mild side of Italy's crazy and how Romano thinks of his predicament. **

**I own none of this. I just have no life. Go for the gold! **

* * *

When Romano cracked his eyes open he was sprawled in some back alley, every muscle in his body aching as he sat up. "What the fuck?" He rubbed the back of his head and groaned. The last thing he remembered was that he had been at America's place with his brother and potato bastard. The next thing he knew, there was nothing but black. Had he fainted?

Romano's spine creaked as he stretched, and he rubbed the sleep out of his still blurry eyes. "Dammit, I feel like I just got sucked through a black hole." He felt stretched and compact at the same time, as if he'd been ripped apart and then hastily put back together. Romano blinked a few more times and his vision thankfully cleared. Yup he was in an alley, and a gross one at that. He yelped and scurried back when a fat, greasy rat crawled by his feet, hissing at him as it passed. Romano stood, his skin crawling. He looked up at the sky.

It was the color of smog and death. The air tasted acrid every time he breathed in. Where the hell was he? Romano glanced around the alley again and noticed people walking beyond it. His brow furrowed and he crept closer to the end of the alley. Everyone looked so destitute and lost, like something out of the middle ages. He remembered back then, the look of hopeless despair of the poor and destitute, the filth. All of it came back and dread settled over him.

Just as he was about to slink away, he caught a few disjointed strands of conversation.

"An execution…hurry…they found spies…Austria…" Romano's eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat. They were speaking Italian. He looked up again at the ramshackle buildings. They all looked so familiar, but they were grey and dilapidated, as if they had seen a hundred years of war. Romano swallowed what felt like a fist full of sand.

"Fuck," he murmured. Everyone seemed to be going in the same direction, and Romano slid out of the alley entirely to follow them. Everything about this city looked disturbingly familiar, but it was so broken down and ravaged that he couldn't place it. He crept close to the walls, and stopped when he came before the edge of an even more familiar square. A wooden stage stood in the center and though it took Romano a moment to realize what it was, he felt sick when he did.

Gallows.

And standing on top was no one other than Feliciano. On either side of him, Germany and Japan held rifles in their hands, while hoards of Italian soldiers stood at the front, keeping the crowd back. Romano almost sighed in relief and was ready to make his way through the crowd to his brother, but froze when Feliciano opened his mouth.

"Bring the traitorous family, ve!" It was Feliciano's voice, but it was hard, full of authority and power. He was wearing an entirely different uniform as well. It wasn't that same oddly cheerful blue, but a dark beige color. He also wore a beret, something Feliciano always said made him feel tacky. It was the same color as his uniform with a dark purple plume hanging down the side. He stood with the discipline of a soldier, a kind of discipline no amount of yelling from potato bastard could ever instill in him.

_What the hell is going on here?_ Romano thought as he stared at his brother. Feliciano looked down at the crowd like he was their king. Germany and Japan stood by him, more like guard dogs than actual allies. Behind the three nations a man and a woman followed by six children stepped up onto the gallows and in front of their respective nooses.

Romano's blood turned to ice in his veins, and he stepped away until his back hit the rough brick of the surrounding buildings. He needed to get out of here. He needed to run and fast, because nothing was making sense. The more he looked at Feliciano, the more sick to his stomach he got. He'd seen death before. As a nation that was nothing new, but this, he realized, was a family. An innocent family that was about to be hung before a crowd. The children were already crying, the youngest being a boy no more than five years old.

"These Austrians will hang!" Feliciano's voice boomed over the square. He started to pace along the wooden stage. "Never forget what they did to me: I, your country, your home, your heart!" The crowd cheered, a few throwing their fists in the air. The energy turned from curious to hostile as Feliciano's words sank in.

"My God, Feli. What are you doing?" Romano whispered. "They're kids, dammit." Austria was a prissy jerk, but he was their friend. He hadn't been overly cruel from what Feliciano had told him about his days with the Holy Roman Empire. What city was this? Why was no one stopping this? How long had he been out?

"It was the Austro-Hungarian Empire that enslaved us, ve! It was their attack dog Spain that tore my brother and I apart, resulting in all your hardships and all your pain!" The crowd roared again. Romano was taken aback as another thought hit him. They knew that Feliciano was Italy. He looked to the side and saw the people look up at Feliciano in near awe and reverence. His brother could never hope to get such a reaction. Feliciano was too sweet, bubbly, and airheaded.

"Kill the Austrian scum!" someone nearby shrieked. "Kill them all, and their spawn!" Romano wanted to tell them to shut up, that they were just kids, that something was wrong here, because none of this made sense.

"These creatures will hang before you just like your friends and family hung before them, ve! You will know satisfaction! You will know justice! Austria will fall to the End War, and his whore will follow with him!" Romano's palms began to sweat and he was ready to faint, to go to sleep and wake up from this nightmare. Hungary was not a whore, and to hear a word that dirty come from Feliciano's mouth made something in him break. He felt his eyes burn helplessly as he looked into the scared eyes of the children on the gallows.

"They will fall because of you, and because of me, ve! We are strength! We are power! We are kings! We are Italy!" At this the people erupted with bloodthirsty cheers and taunts about the fall of Austria and Hungary. Romano was overwhelmed with all the noise and the stink of the unwashed bodies pressed around him. He needed to escape this and get his bearings, for the world was suddenly spinning on a different axis.

Feliciano didn't make impassioned speeches, he didn't stand like a soldier, and he definitely didn't hang entire families based on their nationality. Romano wanted to run up through the crowd and put a stop to this, but something inside him held him back. It promised that if Feliciano saw him, he would wish he were dead.

"Place the nooses!" Feliciano ordered the executioner. Germany and Japan kept and even pace with him, as if they had been trained to do so. The thick coils of rope were slipped over the heads of each family member. Romano stared at Feliciano's face, trying to piece together just what the fuck had happened. What he saw gave him chills.

Even from this distance, his brother's eyes were dark with suppressed hints of madness and exhaustion, but over all they were cold. Something constantly moved behind them, as if the nation they belonged to was continuously calculating every move he made and word he spoke. There was no remorse or second guessing. Feliciano stopped before the father of the family, and his taunt mouth relaxed into a grin that was so sharp Romano cringed back against the building. All Feliciano had to do was to turn his head and see him standing in the crowd.

"May whatever gods you fornicated under to produce your spawn have mercy on your souls." Feliciano's cold, reddish eyes drifted from the father to the mother. Both of them stood strong, though the cries of the youngest of their children floated through the square. Then Feliciano took a step back and raised one hand. Everyone in the crowd followed his lead, hands raised to the sky. "Death to Austria!" he shouted.

"Death to Austria!" the people shouted around him. Romano looked around frantically, his eyes wide and tearful as Feliciano's hand came down and the floor dropped out from beneath the feet of the family. They were like broken rag dolls, though Romano realized with horror that the smaller children's legs were still kicking, trying to find purchase.

Feliciano watched them with that same sick smile across his face. His frigid eyes contained a mixture of glee and pure rage. It was the face of madness superimposed on his sweet, kind Feliciano.

It was too much: the cheering of the people, the stink, and the hanging bodies of the family.

Covering his nose and mouth, Romano darted away from the square and back into an alleyway. Tears streamed down his face and every muscle in his body seemed to contract around his stomach until the last thing he ate was forced up and onto the trash littered ground. He backed himself into a corner, willing himself to calm down. What the hell had he just seen? Where the fuck was he? What happened to this city? What happened to Feliciano? He started to panic, his lungs taking in too much air at once.

He needed to calm the fuck down if he was going to figure this out. One question at a time. He'd figure this out step by step. Yet before he could, he heard a familiar voice.

"Lovino? Ya all right there?" Romano glanced over his shoulder in time to see America, only he looked concerned and his hair was dark. Across his shoulder was a large bat with nails sloppily hammered into it.

"S-Shit."

* * *

**There you have it! Romano is having so much fun! Anyway! Reviews for a starving author? I'll shed more mystical unicorn tears. **


	8. Chapter 8

**I love all of you. So. Much. If you're reading this. We are married. You have no say. Also, since you all loved Romano's chapter, I have a proposition. Would you like me to write from his perspective as well and alternate chapters? If so, this will no longer be a daily updated fic, as I am lazy and it takes me forever to write things from scratch. Anyway, onto the chapter. Also, there will be a rating change down the road. So be warned. **

**I don't own Hetalia and America was not written by me but by the lovely Jetsir.**

* * *

America almost spit out his coffee in disbelief when he caught the hint of a smile tugging at Romano's mouth. He felt oddly proud of himself. "So you're really worried about your brother, huh?" He shifted his feet a little. "How come?

"Because he's my brother, and my responsibility," Romano said. "If I'm not there, and if he's found your Romano, he'll lose it entirely." He watched America closely and stood up. "You look…strange."

America blinked. "I do?" He frowned, touching his face self-consciously as if he'd be able to _feel_ what looked strange. "Maybe I've had too much coffee." That _did_ tend to make his eye get a bit twitchy.

"No, your face is red." Romano leaned forward a bit, but didn't take a step closer. He knew better. "You aren't sick are you?"

"O-oh?" America laughed nervously, his face growing redder still. "Maybe it's just my warm personality," he joked weakly, then tried to give the other a reassuring smile. "But no, I'm not sick…i-it's probably just the lighting in here." But it wasn't. It was the Italian standing in his kitchen that was making his face grow red. Not that he'd ever tell him. No, that would be disastrous for the both of them.

Romano frowned lightly and turned his head to look out at the city from the picture windows. All of his and Feli's windows had been boarded up to keep the bullets at bay. "I see. What are you planning to do with me today?" he asked.

"D-do…?" America squeaked, his mind going in all the wrong places. He cleared his throat and followed Romano's gaze out to the city, becoming serious. "Well, knowing England and Germany, they're going to need a little more time since we haven't heard from them already. So we shouldn't expect them until tomorrow…" he paused thoughtfully, "there's no sense staying cooped up in here since I have my cell phone, so if you want to do something or go somewhere, we can." He imagined that Romano would be curious about this world, and might want to see some of it.

Romano's eyes drifted back to the movie posters and looked over at America once more. "What are the movies like? Before the war we used to have reels sometimes. They were silent, but…fun."

"Reels?" America repeated. Silent film. Before talkies. That had been so long ago, had Romano's world really been at war for so long? "Well, movies today are much…different than the silent films..we could go watch-" he stopped himself. He remembered Romano's reaction to his bathroom. A movie, especially with the budgets and realistic effects they had these days, might be too much for him to handle. Plus there was a matter of being in a dark place with a bunch of people. No, definitely not a movie theater, but perhaps a DVD? "We could watch one here, if you'd like. I have a bunch to choose from."

Romano nodded. He saw the hesitance in America's eyes and knew perhaps going to an actual movie theater in this world might not be the best course of action. He didn't know what they would entail, but technology here far surpassed that of his world when it came to entertainment. "All right. Which is your favorite?" It was odd, talking about movies instead of battle tactics or how he was going to survive through the year depending which way the war shifted. Another thing he had to grow used to. He only hoped his time in this world wouldn't make him soft.

"All of them!" Alfred laughed. "Seriously though, there's so many to choose from, and I've seen a bunch over the years. I can't give you an answer on that one." He wanted to ask what the films Romano had seen were like. If the actors were still the same, even in that world. He tilted his head curiously at the thought. Had Romano ever smiled at The Tramp's antics? He might've been able to have seen him before that war of his started, maybe he was happier then. Or at least more content. It was an odd thing to consider, but an even scarier thing to ask. So he didn't. "Come on, I'll show you my collection." He walked into his living room and over to a collection of shelves that contained possibly over a hundred different DVD's.

Romano stared up at them all in wonder. There were so many, and they weren't the big clunky film reels, but tiny little cases with the titles written across the edges. He looked them over, taking a few off the the shelves and reading them carefully. There were pictures on the cases, with special effects that he had no clue how they were made. Only the animated films were drawn, and even that was debatable. The colors were so vibrant. He looked further until another case caught his eye. It had a picture of a house with many balloons attached to it, going through the title which was simply 'Up!'. He tilted his head and read the back before turning to Alfred. "Can we see this one?"

Alfred smiled brightly upon seeing which movie the other had chosen, it was one of his favorite Pixar films. "Sure!" he said, taking it from Romano. "Just don't laugh at me if I cry during it," he joked with a chuckle, even though the possibility of him crying _was_ very likely. He supposed he was just lucky the Italian hadn't chosen Toy Story 3. _That_ would've been embarrassing. He went to the TV and set everything up before going to sit on the couch, remote on his lap, looking to Romano to join him.

Romano sat down next to him, studying the odd contraption in Alfred's lap. It looked like a remote of some kind. He assumed it was for the monitor in front of them, but remotes to monitors were only used at meetings. They were expensive to make, but here America had one in his home, a personal one meant for entertainment. "If you cry, I promise I won't say anything."

"Thanks man." He used the remote to skip through the previews and start the film, settling back to watch. Just as he thought, as soon as Ellie was in the hospital bed, he began sniffling, a couple tears running down his cheeks. He hoped that Romano would stay true to his word.

Romano watched the film, figuring it was animated. The character designs were beautiful and he felt himself at ease when there wasn't any dialogue after the initial scene. Everything was so sunny and bright, but then Romano leaned forward when Ellie found she couldn't have children. So there wasn't only happiness. He had seen horrible things in his life, things he wished he could forget, but somehow this was different. These were people, with stories, and feelings and dreams. Then Ellie was gone, and Romano looked at America realizing with alarm that he was crying. Crying usually disgusted him, but again this was different. He realized then with a jolt that he had no idea how to comfort a person. He had tried before and Feliciano still ended up a monster. He looked back at the movie. Carl had comforted Ellie by holding her hand. He looked at America again and cautiously took the other nation's hand.

America nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Romano take his hand. Tears still falling, he looked curiously down at their joined hands, then followed Romano's arm up all the way to his face. He looked uncomfortable, as if he had no idea what the hell he was doing, but still determined to help. America smiled, a deep blush covering his face. Feeling more like a girl than he ever had in his life (and that was counting when he was very little and had worn a dress) he slowly laced their fingers together, squeezing the other's hand as a way of showing he was doing it right. He mouthed a grateful "thank you" to Romano and turned back to the movie, trying to calm down while scrubbing the tears off of his face with his free hand.

Romano turned back to the movie as well, not sure how he felt about holding hands with America. It wasn't unpleasant, and as the movie went on, his guard began to drop, slowly but surely. Suddenly problems that seemed so small in comparison to his own, were tragic. Russell's father refusing to see him, and his subsequent loneliness, sent chills through Romano's spine. In the back of his mind, he knew these problems were trivial, but the effects they had on these people, this adventure, on everything were a driving force. And for a moment he forgot where he was, that he hand he was holding wasn't his America's, and leaned against the other nation.

Since they'd joined hands, America found that he hadn't been able to focus on the movie at all, just the feel of Romano's hand in his. This was bad. His feelings or the other America's feelings or whatever, he was definitely attracted to this Romano. It wasn't just that he had the same body as his Romano's, albeit with a slightly different hair, skin, and eye-color scheme going on, it was his admiration for the other's strength, his pity for the other's life, and his almost overwhelming need to protect him from all harm. To make matters worse, it wasn't as if he'd lost all his feelings for _his_ Romano, oh no. The more time he spent developing feelings for the other world's Romano, the more he found himself falling in love with his Romano. He needed to get this Romano back to his own world, back to his America. Yet he didn't want to, for he knew how horrible that world was and didn't know if he could bare knowingly sending someone he was beginning to care so much for back into it. But if he didn't, he wouldn't get his Romano back. He frowned, his head starting to hurt. Then, Romano leaned against him. He tensed, he needed to distance himself, anything to stop himself from falling anymore than he already had. His body had other ideas, relaxing against the other and settling back more comfortably into the couch. His hand betrayed him, stroking Romano's hand with his thumb.

Romano felt a soothing thumb trance the back of his hand and America relax next to him. It was weak, he knew, but he missed his America so much he felt as if it were poisoning him little by little. Four days in this world felt like four centuries, and for all he knew it could have been. Who was to say that time passed the same way between worlds? He stopped himself from thinking too far down that path. That would only make it worse, and for now he enjoyed the comfort of America. So familiar, so safe, and his entire body warmed. He let his head rest on the other's shoulder, letting out a slow breath he hadn't been aware he was holding when Carl, Kevin, and Russell slid down the blimp.

America's heart stopped before speeding up once more the minute Romano's head touched his shoulder. He heard the other let out a held breath and chuckled softly. Not really thinking about what he was doing, he turned his head, pressing a gentle kiss into the Italian's hair before turning back to the screen, his head resting lightly against the other's. He gave Romano's hand an affectionate squeeze.

At the end of the movie, Romano turned to America, not pulling away and still holding his hand. Something he didn't understand flooded through him and he remembered the kiss, not just the one from this morning but the one in his hair. He was confused, horribly confused, and unsettled, but he found he couldn't pull away. He just waited for America to turn around so he could look into his eyes and remind himself that this wasn't his America, and what he was doing was weak and pitiful.

As the credits started to roll, America was immediately aware of eyes on him. He turned, immediately locking eyes with Romano, and froze. Those eyes were upset and confused, and he couldn't help but feel as though he was the cause of it. Romano was a taken man, taken by himself, yes, but not in this world. He had no right to feel such things, not when Romano had someone a world away waiting for him. "I…I…" he didn't know what to say. He wanted to pull away, but he found that he couldn't move. Trapped by the Italian's eyes.

Romano searched America's face, his heart hammering in his ears and making it impossible to think. He swallowed back a lump in his throat. Never in his life had he wanted to go home. Things in this world were too confusing, didn't make sense, and people wasted so much of what they had. But everything about this America was achingly similar. He was blond, blue-eyed, and his personality was leaps and bounds kinder, but it was in the way he carried himself, the way he looked at him now, that made Romano feel as if a giant fist had reached into his chest and squeezed his lungs. His thoughts blanked, and he leaned forward and pressed his lips to America's.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! :D Thank you so much! And I shall continue to hope. Thank you all so much! It means so much. I hope we can reach 80. That will cause more unicorn tears to be shed! **


	9. Romano in 2P World II

**WE HAVE SURPASSED EVERYTHING I EVER DREAMED OF GAIS! We have reached 85 reviews. It was the greatest thing ever! Do you think we can reach 100? It would be a fantastic birthday gift, but again, don't worry about it. There will be updates regardless, this is just a fun game. Anyway, you all wanted a bi chapter look at each Romano, so that's what we're doing. I promise to be quick about writing Romano's chapters, or as quick as I can. So...enjoy?**

**And before I forget, yes. 2p!England and 2p!France will both be making their way into this story eventually. Jetsir and I love writing their relationship. It's hilarious. To us at least. **

**I don't own Hetalia**

* * *

"What the fuck happened to your hair, bastard?" was the first thing that was able to be properly articulated. America was supposed to be the golden boy hero or some bullshit like that. "A-And your eyes!" The sky blue that Romano thought was the one pretty thing on America was now a strange red color.

"Wha?" America looked at him as if he were insane and took a step back. "Since when do ya swear? That's my job." His voice was gruff, like gravel on a driveway, and not the usual hyperactive yelling he was so known for.

"What are you talking about? I always swear!" Romano looked around America, hoping for an escape route. That bat was huge, and he was going to get it to the face if he made the wrong move. He wasn't much in a fight, but running, hell, there was no one better save for Feliciano. Or rather…the old Felicaino.

"No. Ya don't." America looked him over again, his brows furrowing. "Ya say it makes ya sound unintelligent 'r some shit like that." Romano backed up further. What was he talking about? He couldn't give two flying fucks about how intelligent he sounded.

"W-What happened to my brother, bastard?" he asked instead.

"Waddya mean?" America lowered the bat from his shoulder and leaned against it. Romano figured he was lucky the other nation still hadn't approached. In fact, he almost seemed as wary of Romano as Romano was of him. "Don't seem different t' me."

"He just hung an entire family!" Romano almost yelled it, but forced himself to quiet down. If he yelled, people would come, and no doubt since they knew Feliciano was North Italy, they would know he was South Italy. Then he'd be in trouble. There was no doubt in his mind that Feliciano would find him then.

"And?" America shrugged a shoulder and Romano had half a mind to run up as punch the bastard in the face. That was no light matter. Those were people and Feliciano had stood over their bodies and smiled like a damn lunatic.

"Feli wouldn't do something like that!"

"Yer kidding, right?" America's mouth twitched into a poorly restrained smile. He choked on a laugh before letting it out entirely, leaning back on his bat and grasping his stomach. "Wow, I knew ya had a sick sense a humor hidden away somewhere, but wow." When Romano didn't join in on his laughter, America stopped, his smile fading. "Shit, yer serious, ain't ya?"

Romano trembled, unable to form a coherent sentence even in the confines of his mind. He still didn't know what happened or what was going on. Why was America acting differently? Why was everyone acting differently? Why did this city look so destitute, and since when were public executions legal?

"Lovi, ya look like yer gonna be sick," America said. Again, the concern was back in his eyes, and it looked like he wanted to come forward. Romano didn't know why he didn't. It wasn't like he had the strength to fight off the bastard.

"What happened?" Romano's voice was hoarse and tears slipped from his eyes once more. America took another startled step backwards, his eyes wide with alarm as Romano gave a choked sob.

"I…don't know what ya mean." America's eyes drifted over him. His brows furrowed and it looked like he wanted to hug him or something. Romano was half inclined to let him, because he suddenly wanted someone to hold him. It didn't matter who it was: Feli, Spain, just someone. He could do for Spain's cuddling and his gushing over cuteness right now no matter how annoying it was.

"What city is this?" Romano asked.

"Well…it's Verona," America said.

"V-Verona?" Romano looked around the familiar buildings, his heart hammering in his chest. This was the city where the play _Romeo and Juliet _took place. It was supposed to be beautiful, and bustling with tourists going to see Juliet's balcony and touch her statue. He told himself there were no similarities between his Verona and this one, for it was nearly unrecognizable, but he couldn't deny the familiarity he felt upon waking up. "No… bastard, this can't be Verona!" He turned his teary eyes on America. "Where's Juliet's statue?"

"Who?" America no longer leaned against the bat, but stood straight up with it gripped tightly in his hands.

"Dio." Romano's knees trembled so badly he feared he was going to collapse onto the disgusting ground again. "What about the Lamberti Tower?"

"No one builds towers anymore unless they're askin' fer a bombing," America said. "Lovino, yer startn' t' freak me out."

"_I'm_ freaking _you_ out, bastard?" Romano knew he was starting to get hysterical, and forced himself to calm down, though with little success. In two seconds he was probably going to hyperventilate.

"Lovino." America put the bat down and raised his hands. "Just calm down. Yer show'n weakness. Ya know Feli can't stand that. I don' wanna watch him hurtcha."

"H-He'd hurt me?" Romano looked at America, feeling his throat tighten. So he'd been right to avoid being spotted.

"He hurts ya every day." America's expression grew pained and he lowered his hands. "Ya take it 'cause ya taught him that way, remember?" Romano shook his head. He'd never teach Feliciano something so horrible. He whimpered softly for a few more seconds before he decided to risk it, and dart around America. To his shock, the larger nation didn't try to grab him or get in his way, but skittered backwards as if he thought Romano was capable of hurting him.

That thought would have been laughable if there weren't more pressing matters on his mind. Romano bolted out of the alley and around the people walking. He heard America calling for him, but ignored it. A few people gave him odd looks, but no one bothered him. In fact, they seemed to go out of their way to avoid him. This couldn't be Verona. Not this horrible place. Yet the further he ran, the more the streets became the same until he finally skidded to a halt, his heart plummeting into his stomach when he realized where he was.

He was standing in another square, but what caught his eye was a downed statue in the center. A group of filthy children clambered all over it as if it were a playground. There was no respect in the way they played, laughing and pushing each other. Romano suddenly felt a deep hatred churn in his heart. That was a monument, one of his and Feliciano's many beautiful pieces of art. It wasn't something to play on.

"Get the fuck off of that, you little bastards!" Romano surged forward and the children looked up and scuttled between the surrounding buildings like cockroaches darting from light. Romano stopped before the statue and had to cover his mouth again to suppress his sobbing.

The statue of Dante was in pieces, the head a few feet away from the actual body. Romano walked over to it, his heart aching and his lungs burning with the desire to wail. He heard a few horses clop by pulling wagons, and people continued about their business like this wasn't a tragedy, as if it didn't matter.

Romano dropped to his knees in front of Dante's head and reached out a trembling hand to touch the once white statue, now stained with grime and foot prints. He ran his fingers over the poet's face. The nose was gone, a crater of rough stone the only thing left. Romano gasped out a sob. He was in Piazza dei Signori. This _was_ Verona.

"Lovino." He turned his head and saw America approach him. He was holding the bat again, and he stopped a few feet away. His red eyes were confused and still a little alarmed. "Why ya cryin'? That thing's been down since Spain invaded."

"What dimension have I walked into, bastard?" The question was meant to be rhetorical, but something about it struck him. One moment the world had been fine and the next he woke up here. Feliciano was insane, America was gruff and dark-haired, and it seemed as if the entire world was at war. As crazy as it sounded, it was the only explanation. He was in a different world. Romano sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I…I don't belong here."

"I don' understand." America's eyes held an unbearable amount of pity, and perhaps a mix of an entirely different emotion that Romano wasn't entirely comfortable with.

"I'm not from this world," Romano said. "Listen bastard, I know it's crazy, but it's true. I'm not from this world. Fuck, I don't even know what's going on!"

"I believe ya." America shifted his body so that Romano was looking at his profile. America's eyes looked from him to the edge of the square, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that he was trying not to turn his back on Romano while waiting for something else to show up. "My Lovino...ain't like you." There was something in America's eyes again that Romano couldn't read. He thought it might have been longing, but the idea was far too strange. He and America didn't talk unless it was for business. They weren't friends, not by a longshot, and America, like everyone else, preferred his sweeter brother.

"What is he like then?" Romano hastily scrubbed at his eyes.

"I—" America stopped speaking and his eyes widened in a way that reminded Romano of a spooked deer. An odd note of what sounded like a horn blared through the square, and the larger nation grabbed Romano's shoulders and hauled him to his feet. "Run!" The way he said it, desperate and terrified, coupled with the sheer, unmasked desperation in his eyes, caused Romano to move without a second thought or argument. He ran into one of the nearby alleys and pressed himself against the wall. As soon as he had hidden himself successfully, three great black horses trotted into view. Romano suppressed another sob when he saw that attached to the horses' saddles were ropes that let down to the bodies of the Austrian family.

Feliciano sat on the horse in the center, while Germany and Japan rode at his side. A straight row of soldiers followed them, guns strapped over their backs and their posture rigid. Their tapping boots came to a simultaneous halt when their nation pulled back on the reins.

"America." Feliciano said the name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. The horse snorted and Feliciano nudged it forward so that it was directly in front of the other nation. Romano cringed back further when he realized Feliciano was dragging the bodies of the father and youngest two children. The ropes were still wrapped around their necks. It wasn't unheard of to Romano to hang a prisoner and parade them through the town was a way to raise moral, but now he could see it as nothing but utterly barbaric.

"Brat." America had the bat over his shoulders again, and he looked up at the other nation as if none of the fear Romano had seen in his eyes existed.

"You missed the execution." Feliciano lifted a hand from the reins and gestured to the bodies. His voice sounded so cold, so matter-of-fact and empty. "My fratello did as well."

"Well ain't that a coincidence?" America's feet subtly drifted apart in what Romano thought was either a fighting stance or a running stance, and this America didn't seem to be the type to run.

Feliciano's nose wrinkled. "Hardly. You were off fucking him somewhere, weren't you?" Romano felt his cheeks redden despite the terror clawing at his chest. So he had been right when he thought he saw longing in America's eyes.

"No." America didn't back away. "I ain't seen him. I just got off the train from Russia's place, if ya hafta know."

"Ve, spare me," Feliciano said. "I know the only reason you're helping is because Romano offered you a tight hole to fill." Romano shuddered. America's hands noticeably tightened on the bat handle and he slipped the sunglasses over his eyes.

"Ya shouldn't talk about him that way."

"It's true." That sick smile was back on Feliciano's face. He was baiting America, and Romano saw that it was working. "I know you don't care about him. A warm body is a warm body, _si?_ Not that I can complain. You have proven yourself useful, ve." The speech tic that belonged solely to Feliciano made Romano sick again. He imagined his brother spouting it before and after everything he said. This Feliciano made it painful, like a stabbing needle hidden within each sentence.

"What's it matter to ya so long as ya get my support?" America asked.

"Oh, America, America, America." Feliciano leaned over the side of his horse, and something glinted from the inside of his sleeve. Romano squinted, and saw that it was a long, slim knife, now skillfully pressed to America's jaw. "Let me make this very clear to you," he said so softly Romano had to strain to hear. "He was taken from me once, but came back for me and gave me all the tools I needed to make this world mine." Feliciano's eyes became half-lidded and his smile curved sharper. "Now tell me, who will he choose in the end? His fratello, or some fuck buddy?" After a moment of lingering, Feliciano pulled back and straightened. He turned over his shoulder. "March!" And with that, he tapped his horse's sides with his heels and lead the march again, the bodies dragging limply behind. Germany and Japan's horses fell in line as well and they were off.

It wasn't until the last soldier marched on, that America let out a snarl of rage. That horrible bat came down on Dante's head and crushed it entirely.

* * *

**My God. You guys just keep giving me magical unicorn tears. I'll be able to cure every disease known to mankind soon enough.**


	10. Chapter 10

**101! 101 lovely unicorn tears. THIS STORY CANNOT BE TAMED! Thank you so much for all your wonderfully kind and thoughtful tears. I just...I don't even know what to say! You all are remarkably amazing. So I guess the next goal would be 111! Just because that number looks hella cool! Thank you so much. UN_FUCKING_WORTHY I FEEL BY YOUR AWESOME! **

**Also, eventually the rating will be changed to M. Be warned! *pulls cloak over lower face and quirks an eyebrow repeatedly before hissing* **

**I don't own Hetalia and America was not written by me but by the lovely Jetsir.**

* * *

Romano was kissing him. Romano was kissing him, he thought. Romano was kissing him, and now he was kissing Romano back. Had _he_ just made that embarrassing whimpering sound? He certainly hoped not. A million voices cried out in his head as he leaned forward into Romano's lips, gently, hesitantly touching his hand to the Italian's cheek. Most were screeching at him to stop, but the fewer voices were the loudest, and they were telling him to go, go, go. Guilt. Affection. Shame. Desire. Sadness. Happiness. All these emotions were tearing at his heart and he still couldn't bring himself to pull away. He wanted to make this last for as long as he could.

Romano closed his eyes, feeling guilty and weak, but knew that he needed this if in a few days time he didn't plan to throw himself off the nearest overly tall building. Slowly, America was becoming like oxygen for him, because his America was so out of reach. A rough hand touched his cheek and he leaned into it, parting his lips. Everything about this was safe, familiar, and he loosely wrapped his arms around America's neck.

Shyly, America slipped his tongue into the shorter nation's mouth, exploring, tasting. The lingering taste of coffee mingled with his own, and he hummed pleasantly. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on the other's hip, all his touches gentle, shy and curious. The hand on Romano's cheek moved to the small of the other's back, gently easing him forward, closer.

Romano allowed himself to be pulled into America's lap. His America had done it so many times before, and just like with his America, he molded himself against the other nation, feeling their frantic heartbeats race against each other. America's tongue was warm in his mouth and let the tip of his flick against it, their lips fitting together like puzzle pieces. One hand drifted to America's cheek, his thumb tracing light patterns.

He'd only intended to pull the other closer, but he didn't complain when he found himself with a lap-full of the Italian. They seemed to fit so well together, as if they were made for each other. America smiled against Romano's lips, and wrapped the other up in his arms, sighing happily at Romano's soft touches. He kissed the other deeper, more passionately than before, hoping to communicate just what he was feeling in this moment.

When the kiss deepened, Romano returned it desperately. _Just a little more,_ he told himself. Just a little more, but Romano found he couldn't stop. His arms pulled America closer, and he tilted his head for better access, brushing America's hair out of his face despite knowing it was going to fall back into place anyway.

America moaned, his hands going to run up and down Romano's sides and back. He pulled back to place small, butterfly kisses on the Italian's lips, cheeks and neck, "Romano…" he whispered, voice thick with emotion. His face tilted up, catching the other once more in a deep kiss.

Romano shuddered at the way America said his name, and his sides tingled when he felt the warmth of America's hands through the fabric of his shirt as they ran beneath the hooded jacket. Everything felt so right, and he returned the light kisses before they deepened once more. America tasted just like his America, and Romano felt another deep well of confusion and guilt mix with the relief he received earlier. His chest hurt and his eyes burned.

Something was wrong, America could feel it. He pulled back, looking into the other's face and saw it. Guilt and confusion. Oh God. His movements stilled, hands sliding away from Romano's body as he used one to cover his mouth in horror at what he'd been doing. He felt sick. Sick and ashamed. He looked down as he was consumed by his negative emotions towards himself. Romano was a taken man, alone in a strange world and obviously lonely, and America had just taken advantage of the fact that his alternate self was Romano's lover. For what? Some intimacy with a man who he'd probably never be able to attain himself in his own world? He was pathetic. "I'm sorry…" he choked out, finding it hard to breathe. "I'm sorry.." again, "I'm sorry…" and it kept repeating as he buried his face in his hands to hide from the other's eyes. It was impossible to escape with the other in his lap. His legs shook as much as the rest of him. "I'm sorry."

Romano removed himself from America's lap, the weight of what he'd done crashing down on him. What was he thinking? He suddenly felt sick to his stomach and looked around the room until he spotted America's phone. He snatched it from the coffee table and hurried into the guest room, his throat tight and his stomach cramping with horror. He toyed with the phone for a minute, his fingers shaking. It took him a second to figure it out, but he eventually managed to find Feliciano's number and hit the green phone button, relief filling him when he heard it ring.

Italy was busy making a pot of pasta for himself, Germany and Prussia when his cell phone rang. Pulling it from his apron pocket he saw that it was a call from America's phone. He brightened, that must be Romano! "Fratello~! I'm so glad you called~ How are you?" he said this all in rapid procession, then waited his brother to reply.

Romano still wasn't used to this Feliciano's cheer, but it was the same voice. That was all he needed. The same voice and he wouldn't slit his own throat. "Feli, I need you to do something for me."

Italy's face crumpled with worry as he heard the other's desperate tone come through his phone. "A-Anything, Lovi. Tell me what's wrong and your fratello will help you!"

The control was fading and hearing Feliciano say something so kind was enough to drive Romano over the edge. "I need you to yell at me. I need you to call me weak and pathetic, and that I deserve every ounce of pain I get."

Italy gasped in horror, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. "L-Lovi!" he cried, scandalized. "Don't ask me to say such horrible lies! You're a wonderful brother and a wonderful friend! Y-You're so strong and brave! You don't deserve anything bad to happen to you! Sure, you can get angry sometimes, b-but everyone has their bad days!"

Germany stood up from the table and placed a protective hand on Italy's shoulder. "Italy, what is he saying?"

"Please, Feli." Romano hated that he was begging. If he needed to convince himself of his weakness then there it was. He was begging for a punishment from the only person who could give it to him in a way he deserved. "Please. I need to hear it." His hand tightened around the phone and he trembled. "I did something….I did something horrible."

"Tell me!" pleaded Italy. "Tell me what happened! We can fix this. I-I promise! Wh-whatever you did, I'm sure it'll be okay!" Italy walked out of Germany's reach, flitting nervously around the kitchen, into the living room, and back, clutching onto his phone desperately as if it were actually his brother.

"I…I let myself be weak that's what," Romano said. "I…I kissed your America." Saying it out loud brought it all into focus and it made him feel sicker to his stomach. "Please, Feli. Just yell at me. I…I need to hear you yell at me again."

"Oh, Lovi," Italy said sadly. Even his curl drooped. "Having me yell at you won't make you feel better. You need to apologize to Alfredo~! If you know what you did was wrong and you say you're sorry, then everything will be alright! Alfredo is a nice person, even if he is really loud, but I'm sure he'll understand~!"

Feliciano refusing to yell at him was almost too much and Romano stared at the hole in the wall from where he stabbed it earlier. His chest felt as if a one thousand pound weight was on top of it. This was his brother's voice, the exact same one, but this kindness was making him dizzy. "Please," his voice cracked. "Please, I…I'm…Feli I just need you to be yourself for a second, just one second. Y-You can apologize to me afterwards. Please, fratello. Please yell at me."

"No, Lovi!" Italy did yell, but not in the way Romano wanted him to, drawing the surprised stares of Germany and Prussia. He stomped his foot childishly. "You need to go be the responsible fratello I know you are and go apologize to Alfredo right now o-or I'll never f-f-forgive you!" With that, he burst into tears.

The phone slipped out of Romano's hands as the last shreds of his self control snapped. This wasn't anywhere like home. Feliciano wasn't a monster here. There was nothing grounding him, and he felt himself spinning out of control. Everything he had been holding back escaped, and a sense of crushing utter hopelessness crashed down on him like a tsunami. Carefully he took a knife from his sleeve and stabbed it into the floor repeatedly. His eyes wide and glazed over as he stared at the hole in the wall. Vaguely he heard Feliciano's voice from the phone.

"Lovi? L-Lovi?" Italy asked softly. The line hadn't disconnected, but Romano wasn't answering him. He then heard some sort of violent sound in the background and began to panic, crying harder. He turned to Germany, latching onto him, "L-Ludwig! Something's wrong with my fratello!" Holding on to Italy as he soaked his shirt in tears, Germany turned to his brother, who had risen from the table in concern.

"Grab our things and call Spain," he ordered. "We're going to America's. Now."

**nnnn**

As soon as Romano had left the room, America dissolved into tears. The guilt was too much, and he felt terrible, even more-so since he knew he probably would have kept going if he hadn't looked into Romano's eyes. After a while he calmed down and wiped his face with the back of his hand. He needed to apologize to Romano. Not like he had before, but calmly and with a clear mind. He stood. It had been a good ten or so minutes since the Italian had fled the room. Now was probably a good time as ever to go and talk to him. He went to his bedroom first, and upon seeing that the other nation wasn't there he went into the guest bedroom, and froze. Romano on the floor, eyes wild and a knife clutched in his hand. America's cell phone on the floor, Italy's panicked sobs coming from it and filling the eerily silent room. America's first priority was the knife, he didn't know whether Romano intended to hurt him, the furniture or himself, but he wasn't about to find out. He rushed forward, quickly snatching the knife out of the other's hand and tossing it to the side. He seized Romano by the wrists, staring at him in frenzied concern.

"Get off!" Romano jerked in America's grip and panicked. It was like being caught in a steel trap and he twisted wildly, his eyes wide and frenzied as he tried to pull away. "Let go!"

"No!" America cried, just as panicked as Romano. It wasn't that it was all that hard to keep a hold on him with how incredibly strong he was, but the Italian could seriously injure himself with how much he was twisting. In a swift movement, America lunged forward, wrapped his arms around Romano so that his arms were pinned to his sides, and laid himself out on top of the Italian, effectively immobilizing him under his much stronger body. "P-please calm down!" he pleaded, "I-I'm really sorry I took advantage of you back there. It was wrong, more than wrong, b-but I promise I won't do it again. Just please, don't do this to yourself!" He couldn't help it, a couple of his tears fell onto the face below him as he looked down into Romano's eyes, his guilt and shame as clear as day.

"Get off of me!" Romano tried to squirm his way out from beneath America, and let out a screeching growl of frustration. He turned his head wildly, catching sight of the holes in the carpet from his repeated stabs, and turned to face America again. Humiliation burned in his chest like wildfire and he hated himself more than anything he had ever hated in his life, more than Spain, Hungary or even Austria. He looked into America's eyes, saw the other nation's emotions wreak havoc within him, and felt the warmth of his tears trickle down the sides of his face. "Why are you doing this to me?" The question came out as a pained hiss.

America felt some sort of damn break inside him and all the fear, anger, guilt, shame, _everything_ came out. "Why am I doing what? Huh?" he shouted as his tears fell more rapidly. Whether it was in anger or sadness or something else, it was unclear. "Why am I trying to keep you from hurting yourself? Why am I trying to apologize to you when it's obvious you're too fucking lost in your own self loathing to hear it! Huh! Maybe I think you're worth my concern, my effort, my feelings! Did you ever stop to think about that? Maybe I just really care about you and I want to help! Maybe I'm just feeling so fucking scared and worthless and sad about losing one of you without being able to do anything about it that I really don't wanna lose the other one! And here you are with that goddamn knife in your hands, scaring the shit outta me and wonderin' why I wanna stop you…" He had more to say, but it was drowned in his sobs.

Romano stared at America's face, for once in his life, truly scared. Scared because he had no idea what he was supposed to say or do. He hadn't planned on hurting himself. He had needed to take his emotions out on something, so the floor became his target. Feliciano had refused to ground him, to give him a piece of home, and the punishment he needed for betraying his America. Now here was this America, sobbing. He felt sick to his stomach. Too much had happened. "I…" his voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat, turning his head away. "I started it….it wasn't your fault…I started it…"

* * *

**Oh, Romano. You poor babu. I have a question for you reviewers. Please answer because I really want to know. When you picture 2p!Romano, how do you imagine him? I left his description vague because there are so many different fan designs for him and I felt it was better to let the reader choose which one they wanted to imagine. So, what do you think he looks like? **


	11. Romano in 2P World III

**OKAY I'm here! Updating this shit! We made it to 120 unicorn tears! I'm so proud of all my unicorns. Okay! Also, HAPPY BIRTHDAY CANADA! I love you! To the country and our lovely Matthew! Okay, so the next goal is 130! Keep those tears coming!**

**Also: Seven Little Killers readers. Stop drinking the hater aid for this story! **

**I don't own Hetalia. **

* * *

Romano stared at the dust that was once Dante's head as he stepped out of the alley. America was hunched over, trembling with rage. The sunglasses covered his eyes, and that made Romano even more scared. Still, he didn't know what the fuck to do on his own, and America had told him to run when he had to. So, like it or not, America was probably his best bet for getting home.

"Why did you do that, idiot?" he blurted out. Dante had seen enough pain, but then when America looked up, the shades gave him an angry demonic look that almost made Romano faint right there.

"It's just a stupid statue," America said. "Would ya rather it be yer brother's head?" Romano took a step back. The statue of Dante wasn't _just_ a statue, it was a monument, and with little ceremony he stormed up to America and glared up at him.

"That was a statue of Dante! The poet who wrote _Divine Comedy_!"

America quirked an eyebrow and looked over Romano's shoulder. "Really? He sure don't look like a comedian. I mean, unless cross dressing is yer thing." Romano let out a screeching growl.

"Shut the fuck up! Dante was _not_ a cross dresser! That's how they dressed back then, idiot!"

"Might wanna watch who ya insult 'round these parts," America growled. Romano swallowed back a squeak of fear but stood defiant. This was his land (sort of) and he would not stand by and let some twerp with a baseball bat disrespect one of his most influential poets. He and America stared at one another for a while longer, the air thick with tension. Romano refused to be bullied. He was scared, hell, he was about ready to pee his pants, but America wasn't going to push him around. No way in hell.

"Just calm down, bastard! Feli…" He was about to say that Feliciano couldn't have meant what he said, but remembered this was a new world with new rules. "Look, you love your Romano, right?"

America gave a noncommittal grunt.

"And so if you want him back, you need to help me, dammit. Clearly we switched places if he isn't here. So he must be in my world."

"That," America began with a snarl before he let out a rush of air that sounded almost identical to the snort of a bull. "That actually makes sense."

"Si, it does, idiot," Romano said. "So don't worry about what Feli says."

"Little shit knows just where to stick his fuckin' knife." America stood up straight, and pushed the shades off of his eyes. Romano still couldn't get over that they were red instead of blue. In fact, this America was all around darker. His skin was a light brown, while his dark hair had an almost reddish tint to it. Romano couldn't help but think he looked almost exotic in a way. He definitely stood out in a crowd. He shook his head. Now wasn't the time for that.

"Look, I need to figure out how to get home, bastard." America's eye twitched and he looked down his nose at Romano.

"Shit yer preachin' to the choir. If Satan's little angel finds out Romano ain't here, it's gonna be a shit storm." America let out a sigh that sounded more like a growl. The fur of his bomber jacket slumped with his shoulders and he tapped his bat on the side of his leather boots. "Feli's gonna blow a gasket."

"W-What do you mean?" Romano asked. He couldn't imagine Feliciano getting angry. His brother was always so bright a cheerful. Then again, an hour ago he couldn't imagine his brother harming a fly, let alone hanging an entire family and dragging their bodies throughout the city.

"It's a long story," America said. "One I can't tell ya in public." All of a sudden a loud boom echoed throughout the entire city and Romano jolted to the right. Over the broken skyline of buildings, he saw the black and red plume of an explosion. A few horses nearby whinnied in terror and reared up as the people attempted to grab their reins. Romano suddenly felt a hand on his wrist and turned around in time to see America dragging him out of the square, swearing like a sailor.

"Shit," he snarled. "Fucking dammit!"

"You took the words out of my mouth!" Romano gasped as America roughly yanked him down a tiny alley, kicking debree and trash out of the way as he went. Another boom shook the ground and Romano yelped, jumping forward and bumping into America's back. He looked up as the taller nation turned around, that horrible bat at the ready. "What the fuck is going on?"

"War," America said. "Yer brother ain't called Europe's Overlord for nothing. He's been at war with the Austro-Hungarian Empire ever since my Romano overthrew Spain's rule from himself and negotiated his freedom."

"H-Huh?" Romano was still stuck on the idea that Feliciano was an overlord of anything, least of all Europe.

"I'll tell ya 'bout it some other time. Right now, we just need t' get ya in a train. We'll head to Russia."

"Russia?" Romano squeaked, stopping abruptly. "Are you insane?"

"Russia's my friend," America said. "And he's 'bout the only person who'll challenge the Italian Empire to help ya if I ask."

"Italian Empire?" Romano repeated weakly. Feliciano had an Empire? Like their Grandfather? Feliciano hated empires! He stumbled, feeling oddly lightheaded. America whirled around and gripped both of his shoulders.

"Keep it together, man." His unsettling red eyes narrowed into slits. "I ain't hauling yer ass to the damn train. Ya got legs, use 'em." Romano only nodded dumbly and followed after America. The alley led to another street where people were panicking in a great mob as men in uniforms chased them around, firing into their midst. Romano held back a scream and kept close to America. "Shit fuckin' Hungary. Crazy bitch _would _send 'er men here." America bolted down another alley and Romano tore after him.

Yet something heavy fell in his path and before Romano could dodge or change course, he ended up tripping over it and scraping his hands on the street. He looked over his shoulder and saw that it was one of the Hungarian soldiers. His eyes were glazed over and a knife handle protruded from his back. Romano turned around and let out a shriek when he saw another soldier posed over him with his sidearm drawn.

The man's finger tightened on the trigger, but just before Romano closed his eyes in defeat, the man gave a grunt as a flying knife pierced the side of the neck. The soldier fell to the side and Romano looked in time to see Feliciano standing in the midst of the chaos. His eyes were narrowed and his arm was still outstretched in his throw.

Romano heard the panicked beats of his own heart. There was no mistaking it. Feliciano was looking right at him.

"Romano!" America shouted from the opening of another alleyway. "Hurry up! Ya tryin' to get yerself killed?" Romano forced himself to his feet just as Feliciano started to make his way through the fighting towards him. He didn't need another shout from America to start running. Without looking over his shoulder to see if his brother was still following, Romano made it to America. He wasn't going to die here. He couldn't.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! 130! 130! Also, there are two sequels to this RP. But more on that later. Weeeeeeeee!**


	12. Chapter 12

**133! You guys are just made of awesome sauce! And then you go and make me flail like a little girl with all your kind reviews. It's crazy. Absolutely crazy. Like, I don't even know what to say, because you guys are just awesome. So, next goal 144! Cause that number looks freaking cool as ballz. **

**I don't own Hetalia and America was not written by me but by the lovely Jetsir.**

* * *

America just shook his head, over and over, his body going limp on top of the Italian. He buried his face into the carpet next to the shorter nation's head. His arms were no longer pinning the other down, but instead clinging onto him, like a child would their blanket, as his body shook with sobs, "I k-knew you had someone…that you missed him… I sh-should've stopped you, but instead I just took advantage of y-you…"

Romano stared up at the ceiling, his mind whirling too fast for him to keep track of any rational thoughts. His heart was in his throat and his stomach was tied in knots. What was he supposed to do? He gave into weakness and betrayed the only person in his world besides Feliciano that gave a damn whether or not he lived or died. He could say it was just a kiss, but that would have been a lie. That was not just a kiss. That was pure, raw emotion and longing. He realized he would have let America do what he wanted if it had kept going. Romano felt trapped and sick. "I was the weak one. I was the one who couldn't control myself."

"Stop calling yourself that! You're not…you're not!" America pushed himself up, hovering over the Italian. He took a shaky breath, scrubbing furiously at his eyes with the back of his hand. The motion knocked his glasses askew until they fell off of his face, landing softly on Romano's chest. "You were going through so much and doing your best to be composed, in control. It just got to be too much. That doesn't make you weak, it just makes you human! I'd've been more concerned if you didn't feel shit from being away from him for so long."

A sharp intake of breath stabbed Romano's lungs when America's glasses fell away. Having something like glass in front of those eyes had somehow dulled their intensity. Now Romano was hit with the full force of them. His vision flickered and images of his America came back to him: the way he truly smiled only for him, the way he walked so proudly with the evil looking bat slung over his shoulders, the way he picked at food, and the way his ruby red eyes became half lidded and content after a good night, his chin resting on his bare arms as he watched Romano. Then he was looking back up at this America, this blond, blue-eyed America, and his breath hitched. "Alfred..."

America jerked back a bit at the sound of his own name leaving the other's lips. His vision was blurry without the aid of his glasses, but the look of despair on Romano's face was clear as day. He pushed himself up further, crawling off of the Italian. He sat beside him, watching him with concern. "R-Romano?" he asked uncertainly. He didn't know what the cause was of this most recent bout of distress and he didn't know what to do. What he wanted to do was hold the other in his arms, but he couldn't do that. Not when there was risk of a repeat of before. He blinked, squinting, before finally reaching over to retrieve his glasses off the other's chest.

Romano sat up tenderly, one hand clamped over his chest. His eyes were wet, but he refused to cry. No. He'd been weak enough. He let his emotions overtake him, and he practically threw himself at this America like some cheap whore. "I miss him," he whispered. "I miss him so much." He stared down at his legs. "And I wondered why he..why he would…" Romano grit his teeth, slipped another knife out of his boot and stabbed it into the floor, just to stop the room from spinning. "Why….why he would…love me…"

America reached forward, placing a comforting hand on Romano's shoulder, giving it a careful squeeze. "Who wouldn't? You're brave and caring. You're dedicated and responsible. Practical. Kind, in your own way. You stay strong even when others can't. You don't give yourself enough credit, Romano. Your America's one lucky guy." Another squeeze and he let Romano go, adjusting his glasses properly. He needed to keep his distance, be less touchey-feely around this Romano, but that didn't mean he had to be cold to him.

"I also poison what I touch." He thought back to the birds, just yesterday. How he fed them breadcrumbs he had sprinkled with poison from the vial around his neck. He hated how trusting they were, how greedy and fat they were while he was running blind through a city he didn't know. He looked at America again, his lips pressed into a tight line. "How can you stand to look at me after everything?"

"I care about you," he stated honestly. Maybe it was the influence from the other world, maybe it wasn't, but he cared deeply about the man in front of him and he was determined to help him. Plus, he was just as much at fault for what happened as Romano. To be angry at the Italian was to be angry at himself. Which he was, angry at himself, that is, but he still didn't see the point of holding anything against Romano. He understood the other's reasons.

"I think I scared Feliciano." Romano turned his head to look at the open doorway.

America looked down at his phone and picked it up. The line had disconnected meaning Italy, or more likely, Germany, had hung up. "He'll be fine once he knows you're okay. If you don't mind me asking, what did you say to him?"

Romano felt his back tense and his fingers gripped the baggy sweat pants. "I asked him to yell at me and call me weak, like my Feli would."

America let out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah, that'd do it. This world's Italy…well, you saw him. Wouldn't hurt a fly and absolutely adores everyone, even when they give him reason not to. I don't think he has a mean-spirited bone in his body." He smiled fondly, thinking of the younger Italian. "Worried as he is about you already, he'll probably be here in a couple hours, along with Germany, who's sure to be pissed as all hell."

"I needed to hear my Feli," Romano said. "Even if it wasn't real, I needed to. Punishment was part of it, but…" He couldn't look at America and his heart had turned to a heavy stone that rested painfully against his rib cage. "I wanted…I could have pretended that my fratello was okay."

"Well, I think we already figured out that us nations in this world don't make very good replacements." It had slipped out without him thinking, and it had sounded so bitter and full of hurt. He winced, not facing the other, instead looking at the wall and cursing his big mouth.

Romano turned back around to face America. He had been stupid to say anything, to open his mouth and share anything with a person he barely knew and had formed some odd pseudo relationship with. The air was suddenly tense and thick. So much so that not even a knife could cut it. "I'm sorry," Romano said at last, standing up and heading to the bathroom to retrieve his uniform.

America cursed under his breath, and walked after Romano. "No, Romano I'm sorry, that was insensitive, I just…" he sighed, stopping and looking down, not caring whether or not the other heard him, he just needed to say it out loud. "I'm just acting jealous and immature. I'm jealous of your America, I really am. He seems to have so much to offer you, to make him desirable. As for me with my Romano. Here, there isn't much of a pressing need to come together out of a need for safety. You attract others with your culture, and in that sense, I really have nothing I could offer him to make him love me as much as you love yours. My culture, my people, I-I'm just a big joke to the rest of the world, and…seeing you so sad over the other America and missing him…how much you love him…and then I used you, and that just made me feel shittier and I… I took my anger out on you, and it was unfair of me to do that. I'm sorry, I know you don't need my problems, especially as petty as they are." He was pretty sure he made about as much sense as Sweden did when giving a presentation at a world meeting, he sighed. "I'll leave you alone." He turned.

Romano watched America turn away and looked down at the rugged uniform in his hands. It had seen a lot of bloodshed and death. Romano had killed many people in his world, so many that he couldn't even remember all of their faces. When he thought of them, they were just white ovals with hair, no eyes or mouth. There was a gap between him and this America, but one thing he knew to be true was this America had killed before too. No matter what world it was in, humans still had their basic instincts. "I don't think you're a joke," he said softly, running his fingers over the silver buttons of his uniform. The bruises on his wrists were yellowing, beginning to heal. Four days without Feli were doing them wonders. "You kept those nations in line yesterday. You kept them…you kept them from cutting me."

America turned to him, studying him. He shrugged, giving a sad smile. "But he does. I guess our worlds are truly opposites." Wasn't that a funny thought? In the other world, that America had the one thing he truly wanted, as well as a million things he didn't. High scale war, on his soil, lasting years upon years without rest. His people never knowing simple luxuries such as coffee and running water, things that Americans in this world often took for granted. Yet he had Romano, as broken as that Romano was, as broken as that America was. Maybe Romano was the only thing that kept the other America going. The only thing that kept him strong enough to keep himself and his lover even a little bit sane.

Romano's brow furrowed and he took in America's sad smile. "So, is it me you want?" He paused and caught his reflection in the mirror. He didn't know what the other Romano looked like, but he sure had to be better looking than him, scarred, war torn, and exhausted. His eyes met America's blue eyes. "Or your Romano?"

America looked away, swallowing thickly. He shook his head, as if to shake away his confusion, but it only served to cloud his mind with even more conflicting thoughts. "I don't know," he whispered. He had feelings for his Romano, he was certain. But this Romano… so different from his, and yet the same, with his determination and his inner strength that he just refused to acknowledge. He shook his head again. This was all too confusing to him.

Romano took a cautious step forward and put his uniform down on the sink. He wasn't sure if he was allowed. In his world, touch was used to hurt, but here it was comfort. Between he and his America, it was used to express things they couldn't say with words, and at the moment, Romano had no words. He reached America and let his forehead rest against the other's chest in what he hoped was an apologetic gesture. "I picked a bad movie."

America sighed, letting out a weak laugh. "I'm not too sure it if was the movie. Usually watching Up! with other people leads to us crying into a tub of ice cream. That was the first time I ever recall it leading to a make-out session." He brought up a hand and placed it between Romano's shoulder blades, bringing the smaller nation to his body in what could've been a hug, but didn't seem intimate enough. He stepped away from the other, walking past him and to the sink. He stared at Romano's uniform then looked up. "I can wash this in the washing machine if you'd like, and I have a sewing kit. I can repair it." He was stuck between wanting to be close to the other and wanting to keep his distance; his behavior flip-flopped accordingly.

He was no longer surprised by the luxury America possessed. He and Feliciano had washing machines in their house, but it wasn't something many of their people possessed, at least not the poorer ones. "All right then." Romano bowed his head, aware that America was now trying to keep as far away from him as possible. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or hurt, but he kept his expression neutral as always.

America frowned, opening his mouth to say something, but then closed it, thinking it was for the better. He didn't like this tenseness between them, even though he knew he was the one that had created it. But maybe it was for the better? Perhaps… He nodded, taking Romano's uniform from the sink and to his washing machine, placing it in and starting it up. He drummed his fingers against the hatch, lost in his own thoughts.

* * *

**The drama unfolds! Thank you again! Ya'll exceed my expectations for this story! All the time. I just...I don't even know. This is an RP for basically a crack pairing, and you guys just give it so much love T_T You rule. *waves white flag* Also, 2p!Russia next chapter, and his personality may surprise you! :D **


	13. Romano in 2P World IV

**First of all, I'm so sorry this took so long, guys D: I've been distracted by shiny things and this chapter just wouldn't come out at all. So, this is going to be the last 1p Romano chapter for awhile. Give time to simmer and all that. Also we reached 150 reviews! How awesome is that. I'm sort of hoping for 170, but that's like, WAY too much lol. Still, this shall be updated regardless. **

**Also, peeps Jetsir, the other mother of this child does indeed have a fanfiction. It is Jetsir. You should check out her stuff. She will be posting the sequels to this story on her account. Let's just say 2p Feliciano is fucking terrifying. Anyway, I will not keep you waiting! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia **

* * *

"This train is disgusting," Romano said for the millionth time as he watched the people wander through the cars. Every surface was filthy, and he was sure half the people were sick.

"Well, excuse me princess," America grumbled from next to him. "Sorry this ain't no golden chariot or whatever the hell yer used to." They sat several inches apart and every so often Romano would look over at him to make sure that bat stayed across his lap. America obviously didn't like being in close quarters with other people, and Romano wasn't sure how he'd handle the other nation simply going off the deep end and killing everyone in sight.

"I wasn't expecting a golden chariot, bastard." Romano scowled at his traveling companion. If he didn't need America to survive in this crazy world, then he would have ditched the jerk a long time ago. Unlike the happy, annoying America he was used to, this one was mean, snippy, and seemed to get annoyed by everything Romano did. "I just wasn't expecting…filth." In truth these trains were no better than cattle cars. The cold air from outside wafted in and chilled him to the bone.

"Yeah, well this is what we have to live with," America said, glaring at a few passing children clinging to the ratty skirts of their mother.

"Why are you looking at them like that?" Romano asked.

"They'll rob ya blind if ya give 'em the chance." America ran a hand through his dark hair. Romano still wasn't used to how this America appeared to be of a different racial background than the America of his world. He couldn't place it, but it was interesting. "Whaddya starin' at?"

"N-Nothing!" Romano promptly looked away, hating the heat that was already blooming in his cheeks. Stupid Spain always made fun of him for it and he could almost hear the idiot's gushing in his head. He never thought he would miss it. "Definitely not you, bastard." He crossed his arms with a huff.

"Right, like I give two shits." America rolled his eyes and looked the opposite way.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Romano demanded.

"Nuthin' just that ya can look all ya want." He shrugged. "Don't bother me none." Was that arrogance or just indifference? Romano couldn't tell.

"S-So what's the deal with this world's Feli?" Romano asked. His mind flashed back to the knife plunging into the Hungarian soldier's neck.

"Ya hafta be a tad more specific," America said.

"Why is he…?" Romano wasn't sure how to phrase it, but thankfully America seemed to get it. His red eyes narrowed, though not in anger.

"A raving lunatic? He's had a rough road. Not even I can deny that, much as I don't like him none. Been through some shit most people, hell most nations, wouldn't have been able to survive."

"Like what?" Romano asked. He imagined his own bubbly Feliciano. His annoying and happy brother remained so even after centuries of wars and bullying. Whatever happened to this Feliciano must have been pure horror for him to end up so utterly terrifying.

"I dunno," America said. "Romano said he never talked 'bout it." Romano had half a mind to ask this America about his own past, but decided against it. Right now the other nation was the only thing between him and certain death. He considered himself lucky that his double and America were lovers, or else he would have been on his own.

"Pretty bad then?" Romano frowned, unable to imagine horrors enough to make Feliciano such a ruthless killer. Just the thought of his brother going through any kind of pain was enough to make him see red.

"Yeah. Little shit is unstable as they come. Beats the tar outta Romano on a daily basis. Romano says it's to keep his emotions from overtaking him. All in all, Feliciano's a wreck, but he's a smart wreck, and once he finds that Romano ain't here, there's gonna be a shit storm like no other." Romano shivered at the grave tone in America's voice. Feliciano was truly a threat in this world, and capable of remarkable cruelty from what he saw of the public execution.

"The…the other me just let's himself get beaten up?" Romano asked. He loved Feliciano to death, but he wouldn't let the other beat him up. Not in a thousand years.

"Thinks it's his responsibility," America said. "He loves Feliciano. More than anything. Even me." The last part was so quiet Romano didn't think he was supposed to hear it, and was relieved when the train gave a jerk. The wheels screeched to a halt on the rails. America promptly stood up, placing the bat over his shoulder. "Well, here we are."

"In Russia," Romano said. He never thought he would willingly go to Russia's house but again he reminded himself that this world was different. They filed out of the train cars and Romano internally flinched every time he bumped shoulders with a stranger. America made his way through the crowds as if he knew where they were going to move before they did. It took all of Romano's determination to keep up and he ended up bumping into America when the other stopped in front of a carriage.

America said something in what Romano assumed to be Russian to the driver and turned toward Romano. "Get in." He opened the carriage door and Romano looked at him before complying. If America was leading him to his death, then so be it, but he didn't think so. America was in love with the other Romano and they needed each other if they were going to put things back in order.

"So how long until we get there?" Romano asked once the carriage was well on its way. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ridden in one to actually get somewhere. This wasn't one of the fancy ones either. It was rickety and jerked side to side every so often. It was quite the task to keep himself on his side. "Dammit."

"Relax, we'll be there in ten," America said. He leaned back against the seat as if he owned it. Romano glared at him. He was cockier than the America he knew, less loud, not to mention his speech was rather simple. It was giving Romano's English skills quite a workout with some of the words he smashed together or left out of his sentences entirely.

"So what is this world's Russia like, bastard?" Romano asked. "In my world he's a creepy jerk." America gave him an odd look, one dark brow rising.

"He's probably got the biggest heart in the world," America said. "He…helped me when I needed it. I was an underling, but he was good to me. I owe him." He plucked at one of the nails in his bat.

"You were the creepy vodka bastard's underling?" Romano's eyes widened. "You lost the Cold War?" Though, even if Russia had won, he wouldn't have taken America as an underling, or at least Romano didn't think so. If anything, America would have gone communist at most.

"The Cold what?" America's red eyes scanned him over as if he were nuts. "Me and Russia ain't never been in a war. I'd die before I fought him. He'n his sisters are my only family."

Romano looked towards the front of the carriage, another jolt from the wheels causing rippling pains up his spine. There hadn't been a Cold War. Spain had invaded him and Feliciano by force, and the Austro-Hungarian Empire still remained. Had there been a Holy Roman Empire? The technology of this world was far behind his world. They still used horses and trains to get from place to place, not to mention that luxuries such as food and water were coveted. "Feliciano said something about the End War," Romano said. "He talked about killing Austria and Hungary."

"Yeah, he tends to do that," America said as if Romano had just stated the obvious. "Here's the thing. The Italian Empire and the Austro-Hungarian Empire have been at war for centuries in what everyone calls the End War." He held up a finger. "Basically, what happened was that when my Romano and Feliciano were young they were conquered by Spain, who's the empire's biggest ally. Austria and Hungary got Feliciano, and Spain got Romano. Whatever happened to Feliciano while under their rule, which on a people scale was high taxes, subjugation, and manmade famines, was what caused the war."

"So that's it?" Romano looked down at his legs. They were trembling again. This world was completely different. There hadn't been a Holy Roman Empire or Cold War, Austria and Hungary had never gotten divorced, and both World Wars seemed to have been replaced by this End War.

"Whutsit?" America was still looking at him as if he were completely stupid.

"The history of this place, bastard." Romano squeaked as the carriage jerked again.

"The short version, yeah. Still, we ain't got time fer any more." Sure enough, the carriage came to a stop and America immediately got out. Romano, after jiggling the handle for a minute, practically fell out and landed face down on the ground. When he looked up, he was vaguely aware of his mouth falling open.

The house in front of him was huge. Massive really. It looked more like a castle than an actual house, yet it too looked as if it had seen its fair share of violence. Romano weakly got to his feet. He was really in Russia going to see Russia. America said this Russia had a big heart, but all Romano could think about was his Russia, the asshole with the creepy smile who was always terrifying him and Feliciano.

"Ya just gonna gawk or actually come?" America's voice startled him out of his thoughts. He scowled at the other nation, who was leaning against his bat and watching him with bored red eyes.

"Shut up!" he snapped. "You've been nothing but a complete jerk the entire time we were traveling, dammit! Give me a second to adjust, bastard!"

"Ya ain't got time to adjust." America acted as if he were talking to a particularly dumb child again, something that pissed Romano off to no end. "Ya run the risk of gettin' killed if ya wait too long. Case you forgot."

"Stop fucking talking to me like I'm stupid you damn buttcrotch!" He would have gotten in America's face, but that bat was terrifying and he liked his head on his shoulders.

"Well pardon me, princess. Would ya like me to spit shine yer tiara?"

Romano let out a screeching growl, lifting both hands as if he wanted to strangle the other nation (which he really wanted to) before deciding that he liked living. Instead he turned on his heel and made his way up to Russia's castle-dungeon-scary-as-shit-house.

America wasn't too far behind and simply opened the door without knocking. "Hurry up," he said. Romano blinked. Okay so America was just allowed to walk into Russia's house. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case because after wandering the expansive house for what felt like years, they were stopped by a shout of,

"Halt!"

"Oh, great." Romano gave a whimper and hid behind America as the men approached. The help that were passing by quickly scattered, though America didn't seem to be alarmed in the slightest. Just how good was he with that bat?

"Hey, how's it goin'?" America asked.

"Mr. Russia is very busy," one of the guards said in heavily accented English. "He can't see you." The man's cold eyes fell on Romano. "And I see you've brought the scourge of the Italian Empire with you."

Romano was about to open his mouth to protest such a title, when America's elbow hit him in the chest as a warning. It served to knock the breath right out of Romano's lungs and he wheezed, gripping the other nation's arm for support as he hunched over.

"Lemme see Russia." America took the bat from off of his shoulders and if Romano weren't trying to regain his breath from the unexpected elbow jab, he would have groaned.

"You must leave," the guard said. "And take the scourge with you. We know whose side you're on, Amerika. After everything our country has done for you, you side with the Italian monsters." America's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Watch what ya say, 'bout monsters." It came out as low growl. Romano managed to straighten himself out and take a few steps back when he saw America's fingers had tightened around the bat.

"Are you threatening an honor guard?" The guard took a few steps back. The odd thing was that he didn't sound Russian. Romano tried to place the accent, but found himself a little too scared to think clearly. What if they were thrown out? Where would they go? Would America abandon him so not to risk the wrath of Feliciano? Romano didn't want to think about it.

"I ain't doin' anything ." The shades made their way back over America's eyes. "But I suggest ya lemme see Russia or I'll—"

"America." The door to which the guard was standing in front of opened and Romano gave a habitual squeak of fear and hid behind America. Russia stood in the doorway, only he was different. For the most part he looked the same, only his eyes were a light blue rather than that hauntingly creepy violet. He also wasn't smiling and gave of an aura of calm maturity rather than childish cruelty. "Are you attacking my guards again?"

"No." America stepped away from the guard, though Romano was sure his glare was murderous beneath the shades.

"Remember what I taught you about attacking people in fits of rage?" Russia's arms crossed over his chest like a stern parent's.

America mumbled something under his breath.

"I didn't catch that," Russia said.

"Count to ten," America grumbled.

"Good. Now what do you need?" However, Russia didn't wait for an answer when his gaze landed on Romano. "Does Italy know he's here?"

America rubbed the back of his head in an almost sheepish manner. "See, that's the thing. He ain't the Romano we know."

"No, bastard I'm not!" Romano said before he could stop himself. His voice a little high-pitched and he cleared his throat in embarrassment. "I…uh, I don't belong here, dammit." Russia stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he relented and leaned against the door frame.

"Step into my office," he said. "I have a feeling we're going to be talking for a while."

* * *

**SO THERE YOU GO! WOOT Here's hoping for 170! Can we do it by tomorrow's update? Probably not, but that is okay with me XD You guys give this enough love as it is. Sparkles and rainbows for everyone. But if you do review, you get a free unicorn since I'm no longer in need of their tears! **


	14. Chapter 14

**We didn't make it to 170, but we were pretty freaking close, and that's good enough for me! :D Thank you all! And I hope those of you who reviewed enjoyed your unicorns! Let's try for 180! Because that's an attractive number. I'm glad everyone is giving 2p!Romano some love, because honestly by the time Jetsir and I get done with him, he'll need it. **

**I don't own Hetalia and America was not written by me but by the lovely Jetsir.**

* * *

Romano, uncomfortable being alone in a strange apartment, followed America and stood in the doorway to the laundry room. "I really want to go outside."

America looked up, blinking out of his daze. It took him a second to register the other's request and then he nodded. "Sure, just let me get my phone and keys." They still had a little while longer before anyone showed up, they would be fine. He went into his room, grabbing his keys off of the nightstand before going to retrieve his cell phone off of the guest room's floor, slipping both items into his pockets. He left the room and walked up to Romano. "You ready?"

Romano nodded. The apartment had suddenly become too small, and he couldn't shake the feeling of claustrophobia. It would do them both good to get some air. It had worked whenever he and his America had fought. "I am." He figured he wouldn't stand out so much now that he was out of his uniform and now that he thought about it, he wanted to see one of America's cities bursting with life and intact, what they could be if not for the End War.

America nodded again, leading the other out of the apartment building and into the streets of New York City. Despite his inner turmoil, he couldn't help but relax as he led Romano around on the sidewalk, pointing out different buildings, businesses and restaurants and chattering excitedly about the histories behind them.

It was clear this New York was America's pride an joy, the good and the bad and Romano listened to everything America told him, soaking it up like a sponge. It almost hurt to think that his America would never have the history this place had, and it was a beautiful history.

"Everyone from around the world comes here?" Romano asked. "For fun?" The only people who traveled to other countries in his world were refugees.

"Uh huh!" America nodded excitedly. "There's a lot of cool things to do in New York, like go to clubs, walk around Time's Square, dude, I can't even list it all."

It was getting rather tiresome being constantly surprised, so Romano did his best to keep his bewilderment at bay. Though, that bewilderment promptly resurfaced with a vengeance when they passed by a few shops with clothes on display. There weren't many hobbies in his world, but one thing that Romano couldn't help himself around were well made clothes. He pressed his hands against the windows, his eyes wide. He longed to primp and touch the different fabrics, to examine the stitches and even, dare he think, try some on.

"They're so beautiful." He was in awe.

"They're just clothes," America said with a shrug. "Way too expensive if you ask me."

"They must have been made by a master," Romano said.

"More like companies and celebrities out to make an extra million. Come on, I have more to show you! You can look at clothes online."

"Just a few more minutes." Romano waved his hand dismissively. He stood there for so long that America had to literally drag him away.

People bustled all around them on this pleasant weekday during the summer. School was out, and the teenagers were enjoying their freedom, hanging out with their friends or significant others, but business was still booming. Men and women rushed around in business attire, talking animatedly on their cell phones about the best way to success. Good or bad, one could find out everything about what it meant to be America by simply walking around for a day in the good ol' Big Apple. After a while he took Romano out by the water to a series of sidewalks that were frequented by joggers. Trees and bushes lined the path, a railing standing to separate land from water. Out in the distance stood Lady Liberty, her torch held high and proud. America stopped them there. Pausing to lean against the railing and stared out at the symbol of his greatest ideals. He smiled contentedly, forgetting where he was and all that had happened in these few short days.

"She's…magnifico." Romano was left breathless. The sight was beautiful, no beautiful was an understatement.

"Isn't she?" America grinned, admiring her as he always did, as if viewing her for the first time. "Good ol' Lady Liberty. She's always what I've tried to be. Free, proud, a symbol of hope to all in need, a beacon to guide them to safety and a better life. I guess the same could go for this city, really. It's welcomed people from everywhere, no matter their background, offered people a new life. Freedom to be what you want, do what you want, to follow your dreams so long as you have the heart and determination to work for it." He continued to stare adoringly at the statue, as if regarding a good friend.

"Did you build her?" Romano asked after a moment.

"Actually, France gave her to me." America remembered the older nation hugging him when they had seen her finally standing on the harbor.

"France?" Romano blinked. "He gave you something?"

"Yeah, he gets a bad rep, but he's really a good person." They were both quiet for awhile, America lost in his happiness, and Romano in his wonder. Finally when the sun began to set, America broke the silence. "A lot of your people are here, you know…well, the other Romano's."

"My people." Romano turned his head to study America's profile. The walk had been a good idea. America didn't look so burdened anymore. He looked happy and content among his people and buildings. He had so much pride, but not the kind one used to gloat, but the kind where he was simply proud of what he and his people accomplished. Romano hadn't accomplished anything beyond war, and though early in their lives, Feliciano had loved art and cooking, but that had been quickly consumed. Even his own pension for clothes took a backseat to war strategies and fighting. "You look so…." Romano clamped his mouth shut on the last word.

"Hm?" he turned to Romano. "I look so what?" he frowned self-consciously under Romano's stare. No one had ever looked at him the way the Italian did. Others had looked at him in annoyance, whenever he proposed something outrageous at a meeting. With fear, after he'd dropped the bombs on Japan and again once he'd enter the Cold War with Russia. With amusement, whenever he managed to pass that line of obnoxious and into genuinely funny. But never had anyone looked at him so critically. No one had ever tried to look into him, to understand him. Everyone always took America for what he was on the surface, they viewed him as nothing but a little kid with too much power and not enough experience to know how to handle it. No one could see past that, no one ever bothered. But Romano, he did. He tried. He waited for Romano to answer, his blue eyes focused solely on the smaller nation in front of him.

"You look so…" the word wouldn't come to him in English and though in Italian he could figure it out, he needed to find the right translation. Strong wasn't it, neither was beautiful even though America was both of these. "…like a king," he finally managed.

Even though he knew the other was trying to compliment him, he couldn't help but cringe at the word. A king…he'd fought so hard to get away from one all those years ago in the Revolution. The word hadn't sat well with him since then. It spoke of total power, no freedom to choose, a warning to obey or else. But he supposed he was like a king then, always trying to force his beliefs and ideals on others. His strong-arm tactics. His need to meddle in the affairs of others and give his own, unwanted opinions. Sure he'd always had the best of intentions, but that still didn't stop people from resenting him. He always knew better, but he couldn't do anything to stop himself. He chuckled self-deprecatingly, looking out onto the water. Maybe that's why he had trouble getting a date. He was too controlling.

"I don't know your history," Romano said softly. "Just that you separated from England if my America's history is anything similar." He leaned against the rail and looked down. "When I say you're like a king…you have pride in what you accomplish, but your eyes are…sad and burdened. You carry a lot of weight on your shoulders for this world." Romano lifted his eyes to look at the sunset. "Feliciano looks like a king too."

"And what about you?" America asked after a long pause, not looking at him. "What do you think _you_ look like?"

Romano thought about it for a moment and pushed himself off the rail. "A leper." He put his hands in his pockets and started down the path, his eyes on the ground.

Without missing a beat, America caught up with him, matching his stride and slinging an arm around his shoulders. "That's funny," he commented. "You look more like a hero to me." It was the single greatest compliment America could ever give a person, and he doubted that Romano would understand, let alone believe it, but America was being honest. He thought back to what he'd learned about the other over the past few days, from the things Romano had said, done, or implied. How, in his world, Romano worked to be strong, even in the face of so much despair. How he'd made so many sacrifices, greatest of all his own body at the abuse of his deranged brother, just to keep things going for his people and love ones, to keep the war in their favor or at least not lead them to ultimate destruction, if not for just a moment longer. Most of all, how even after years and years of experiencing all that pain, he still had a heart, he still loved. Such selflessness. Such bravery. Romano was a hero, in every sense of the word.

Romano looked up at America his mouth open. A hero? He had never seen himself as one of those and he stopped, feeling the weight of America's arm around his shoulders. His face suddenly felt hot, and he swallowed roughly, his mouth like sandpaper. He felt utterly helpless and small at the moment. He felt something, like an ember inside of him, a tug that he couldn't ignore. He wasn't a hero. He'd killed too many people, sacrificed things he couldn't get back, and he'd failed his own brother. "You make me feel." He shouldn't have said it and he wished he could grab the words back and burn them to ash.

America stopped when the the Italian had stopped, looking down at him. Romano looked surprised and confused, very much like a lost child. He hummed thoughtfully, moving so that the he stood in front of the Italian, stooping a little so that his line of sight was more even with the other's gaze. Placing his hands on both of Romano's shoulders, he said gently, as if it were more of a suggestion than anything else, "That's not a bad thing, you know."

Everything was spinning around him again and Romano didn't know which way was up or down. America wanted to push him away, which was fine, but then he did things like this, said all the right things, and Romano was being drawn back in. _Why are you doing this to me?_ he thought, unconsciously lifting a hand to touch America's cheek with the tips of his fingers, his heart frantic.

As soon as the fingers had touched his face, America's whole world screeched to a halt. Oh no. It was happening again, and just like before, once it started, he wasn't sure if he could stop it. _Please don't, Romano. Whatever you're planning on doing, please don't._ Even though he said these things in his head, he found himself leaning into the touch, his eyes going soft with affection. He moved a bit closer, the voices in his head quieting completely.

Romano knew what was happening, but it was like he was caught in a vacuum. There was no escaping it for him, because like his America, this one had him by every fiber of his being. Again Romano was reminded how much he missed his America, how empty he felt without him in this strange world with different rules. America was closer to him now, so close he could hear their breaths mingle. His eyes met America's and he stilled, giving him the opportunity to back out and distance himself again, because Romano was weak.

Romano wasn't moving, yet he didn't push him away. If America wanted to, he could back out, brush it off, perhaps with a lame joke, and they could be on their way back to his apartment in an awkward silence. But he did want to. So bad. The way this Romano looked at him, made him feel, set something inside himself aflame. He felt stuck, he couldn't move any further forward than he could move back. Desire and affection drew him one way while guilt and shame pushed him the other. He didn't know what to do, so he compromised. With a whimper, he leaned forward and touched their foreheads together. His eyes fluttered closed, not wanting to see Romano's reaction.

It was so hard to breathe, and Romano wanted this so badly, because he could feel his America through this one, and yet this America was so different. He was being selfish, and crueler than Feliciano could ever dream to be. "Do you want to kiss me, America?" His insides twisted in painful knots of guilt and longing. He was so utterly _alone._

"Yes," America whispered, voice strained and eyes remaining stubbornly closed. "But I shouldn't." Yet he didn't move away. Instead, he wrapped his arms around the other's waist, pulling him closer.

Romano let out a sharp breath as he felt his chest press against America's. He swallowed what felt like a fist full of sand. "Oh Dio, ti prego no." His lips were so close to America's they brushed as he spoke. He let his arms rest on America's shoulders and his eyes slide shut.

America couldn't even hear what the other was saying. As soon as felt Romano's lips brush his as he spoke and he felt those arms on his shoulders, the last of his resolve broke. He moved forward, crushing the other's lips with his. He pulled back, only to plant another and another and another kiss on the Italian. "Romano." The smaller nation's name came out apologetically, desperately, affectionately. He leaned forward again, there was no going back for him after this. He was doomed.

Sharp painful jolts of electricity coursed through Romano every time America's lips touched him, and his fingers found purchase in America's soft blond hair, moving his lips desperately, thinking of his America and how horrible and yet how good this felt.

He was going to hell, America was sure of it. Not that he could bring himself to care. As his tongue worked its way into Romano's mouth and his hands made trails up and down his back, he dreaded the moment they would have to pull away and face what they were doing. Whatever happened, he would keep himself composed, and he would make sure Romano didn't blame himself. It was, after all, America that had made the first move this time.

Romano pulled himself closer, angling his head so that he could get better access. Suddenly he was aware they were moving, whether by his choice or by America's he didn't know. His back hit a hard, rough surface and he grunted, his fingers tangling in the back of America's jacket.

America had pushed Romano into the railing that separated the sidewalk from the water. While the railing was too high to send either of them into the water, the jolt of the impact was enough to bring America to his senses. Here he was, out in public, kissing a man who belonged to someone else. The feeling was very much the same as it had been before, only now there was the added embarrassment of being so lewd, at least, to America's standards, in a public place. Guilt settled in the pit of his stomach as he pulled back, gently removing Romano's hands from his jacket. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We should head back. It's only a matter of time before Italy and Germany arrive, and I'm sure they'll both have a fit or something if we aren't there to open the door." With that, he took the other gently by the hand and began leading him back to his apartment. There were no apologies this time, he just couldn't bring himself to be sorry for what he'd done. He let that thought tear at him as he walked.

Romano allowed himself to be led away, his mind spinning and his lips tingling from their frantic kiss. Relief was the first thing he felt when America pulled away, and he let the feeling sink in. He was slipping. He could feel it with every step he took. America led him down the walk way, his eyes scanning around the area. Clearly he was trying to keep Romano away from the general public, as if he were a disease America didn't want his people to catch. It was then Romano felt someone press something cold, hard and familiar against the back of his head.

"Give me all you have." A mugger. So that was one thing their worlds had in common. Acting purely on instinct, Romano let go of America's hand and twisted out of the way of the gun, snatching the man's wrist and holding it to the side as he slipped a knife out of his sleeve. Unaware of the rules of this world, and thinking only of the golden rule of dog eat dog, Romano slit his throat.

* * *

**Whelp, Romano dun goofed. Bad Romano! Oh, and is it weird that at 1:30 in the morning I'm contemplating writing a Stockholm Syndrome type story between Canada and Russia, and with... plot twist, Russia being the victim? Someone stop me before I hurt myself. Also, I still have plenty of free unicorns! Let's make it to 180! :D **


	15. Chapter 15

**Holy shit, we made it to 183! That is so hardcore! I wonder if we can make it to 200. That would be crazy and I think Jetsir and I would cry. Anyway, we will check in with 1p Romano again, but for awhile it's just 2p!Romano losing his mind. This is the beginnings of what happened to him, because his full back story legit made me misty-eyed. **

**I don't own Hetalia and America was not written by me but by the lovely Jetsir.**

* * *

If America were faster, he could have stopped it, could have unarmed the man and have stopped him in a non-lethal way. He stared at his citizen, a mugger, but one of his own nonetheless, lying lifeless on the sidewalk in a pool of his own blood. He felt sad, a sadness he endured every time he saw one of his people meet their end. He looked at Romano, the person responsible. In America's world, the killing of another nation's citizen, when unnecessary and outside of war, was considered a great offense, an insult, a violation of trust. He sighed, looking away from Romano, already knowing that it didn't work like that in the other world.

There was still a matter of what should be done. He turned back to his dead citizen, shoulders sagging. He knew what he had to do. He turned, quickly reaching over and snatched the knife from Romano. The blood on the blade dribbled down onto his hand. With his clean hand he took out his keys and thrust them at the smaller nation.

"Go back to the apartment and meet Italy and Germany. I'm going to turn myself in to the police." It would be a waste of the city's resources to try and find a murderer, and he knew Romano going to jail would be a disaster. With him, his boss would have him pardoned immediately, though he'd probably lose the man's trust and be subjected to a plethora of psyche evaluations afterwards. But Romano was worth it. He was sure of it.

Romano looked at America for a moment, his face blank. He had a feeling he had just done something horribly wrong, but he had just been protecting himself. The man had a gun pressed to the back of his head. He looked down at the body, hearing America say he would turn himself into the police. "Your world still has police. Of course." Romano's voice sounded flat and hard even to his own ears. He looked at the keys and then to the body. It wasn't anything special. The man was older, and his eyes seemed to bug out of their sockets even in death. Finally he looked to the other nation. "So the poison spreads." He turned and started down the path, guilt, shame and confusion making his steps uneven and rigid.

More than anything, America wanted to go after Romano, comfort him, assure him that, while what he'd done was horribly, terribly wrong, he understood. But he couldn't. Feeling sick to his stomach, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911.

Meanwhile, back at America's apartment, Italy, Germany, Prussia, and Spain waited nervously outside America's front door. Italy, Germany and Prussia had arrived twenty minutes earlier, Spain arriving ten minutes after that. They were all concerned that there seemed to be no answer at the door, Italy, most specifically, was beside himself.

"My poor fratello! Something's wrong with him! Why won't he answer!" he cried, curled up into a sobbing mess on the ground as Germany and Spain did their best to console him.

Prussia was busy pounding on the door, frustrated and growing steadily more impatient. "C'mon! I say we just break this fucking door down and see what's going on!"

Romano made his way up the stairs and stopped when he saw the group of nations around America's door. He had half a mind to slip away quietly, but stopped, reminding himself that they weren't like the ones in his world. He wasn't sure what to say, and merely stood still, waiting for them to see him. Surprisingly it was Spain who noticed him first.

"Look, Romano's here."

"Lovi!" Italy cried in relief, rushing forward to greet his brother only to be held back by Germany and Prussia. Both of their eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Where's America?" asked Prussia.

"Why are you covered in blood?" asked Germany, tensing as he pulled Italy closer to him.

"Wh-wh-wha~?" Italy stuttered, confused, before going into another bout of hysterics as he caught sight of the blood on the older Italian's face and clothing. "Oh no! L-Lovi! Are you hurt! What happened!"

"I was mugged." Romano refused to show fear. He knew how this looked, but if he panicked, they would assume the worst. He instead bypassed them and unlocked the door to the apartment. America wasn't here to keep them in check anymore, so he had to play his cards right. "America decided to take the blame for what I did to the man." No use in lying.

"What was it that you did to the man?" Prussia exchanged a worried look with Germany as Italy wriggled against his grasp.

"I killed him." Romano opened the door to the apartment and stepped inside, leaving it open for the others.

The others stared, before following him inside.

"The hell?" Prussia shouted in outrage.

"Oh, Lovi, how could you?" moaned Spain in shocked disappointment. Romano wasn't sure how to feel about that. They had the same face, but this Spain seemed kind, too kind, and it made him uncomfortable. The scars from his Spain's bullwhip tingled unpleasantly.

"Italy, stop that, stay behind me," German ordered trying to hold the younger Italian back, but Italy wriggled out of the other's grasp and rushed forward.

"Lovi! That's terrible! You know horrible it is to do such a thing!" he cried, not really thinking that no, he probably _didn't_ know how horrible what he'd done was. "And poor Alfredo is taking the blame? He must've been devastated!"

"It was his choice." Romano sat down on the couch, the same couch he and America had kissed shamelessly on. His fists clenched with guilt. "I was protecting myself. He would have put a bullet in my head otherwise." It was a fact. That's what muggers did, whether you gave them what they wanted or not. Romano didn't have anything but knives.

"Lovi, it's not like that here." Italy sat beside him and took his hand. "You can't just…_kill_ people."

"I didn't _just_ kill him!" Romano snapped, his head aching from all the events of the past few days. "He attacked me, and I defended myself! Why are you acting like I'm in the wrong?"

"You could have knocked the gun out of his hand, or overpowered him." Germany frowned at the now proven dangerous nation's close proximity to Italy. "You're a nation. That makes you stronger and faster than the average human being."

"You didn't have to go and kill the poor bastard!" Prussia added.

"And poor America, he must've been so hurt," Spain said. "You really betrayed his trust, Lovi…"

Romano stiffened and he met all of their eyes. He could sense the hostility in the room, and one against a group was never a fair fight. It had been careless and idiotic for him to come back here alone. He'd listened to America and not his own instincts. "He wouldn't have shown me the same mercy! People kill to get what they want! It's a fact!"

"You little bastard!" Prussia stalked forward. "Are you even listening-"

"Stop, Gilbert! Everyone! Leave my fratello alone! Can't you see you're scaring him?" cried Italy, standing in front of his brother, looking stern and unafraid, save for the white flag in his hand. "I want to speak to Lovi alone."

"Italy, no…" Germany started, coming forward.

"Please, Luddy?" Italy begged, "I'll be fine, I promise!"

Germany's frowned deepened, but hesitantly, he sighed. "We'll be right outside." He looked to both of the Italy brothers, Italy as a way of informing him that he was only a shout away should he need help, and Romano as a way of warning. He walked out of the apartment, Spain and Prussia following him reluctantly.

As soon as the door closed, Italy sat back down, taking Romano's hand once more. "Are you alright, Lovi?" he asked gently. "They weren't being too mean were they?" He still hadn't registered just how different this Romano was from his own, and opted to treat him as he did the other Romano.

Romano watched his other brother for a moment and looked down at their joined hands. "My Feliciano would have me on the floor by now."

Italy frowned, his curl drooping. This other him, yelling at his beloved fratello, beating him to the ground…he sounded horrible! "Oh Lovi…" he patted his brother's hand. "Just because you did something bad doesn't mean you deserve to be treated so cruelly! But you need to understand what you did wrong. So will you listen? Please Lovi?"

The fact that Feliciano wanted to talk instead of scream and throw a fit almost had him laughing, mostly out of hysterics, but he couldn't deny the humor in it. Still, he needed to understand this world better if he was going to survive. A world with no End War. "I will," he whispered squeezing his brother's hand.

Italy brightened, before growing serious again. "Here, when you're visiting another nation, you put trust in them that they will keep any harm, be it by their people, by their weather, or by any other means, from coming to you. In return, you are trusted to not bring harm to their people. It's their job to keep you safe. But to go and kill one of their citizens is really bad! Especially when you can help it! And Alfredo…he's very strong and very fast, he wouldn't have let you get hurt! He's too caring and heroic to ever let that happen! But by doing what you did, you showed a lack of trust in his abilities to keep you safe, which is really bad because that means you don't trust him to have control of his own country! And what is also really bad is that you betrayed his trust in you to not harm his citizens while being a guest. Do you understand, fratello? This was very bad!"

Romano's eyes widened. "That's basically putting your life in another nation's hands! That's suicide." Romano trembled and thought back to what happened to he and his brother at the hands of other nations. All it took was one moment of weakness, one moment of letting your guard down, and if you were lucky you'd be killed. "You don't understand. Where I come from, if you put your life in the hands of another they'll use it however they want. It's what turned my Feli into a monster! It's what….it's what…" his breath hitched and he wiped at his eyes. "I let it happen with Spain….I let Spain have me, have my life to make sure my fratello wouldn't be hurt…and..." Romano hid his face in his hands, all the memories rushing back. "Dio."

"L-Lovi." Tears pricked at the corners of Italy's own eyes, and he wrapped his arms around the other, not even thinking twice about it. "I-I'm very sorry it's like that where you come from, fratello," he said quietly, rubbing the other's back. He'd never been good at comforting others, since he'd always been the one needing the comforting his entire life. All he could do was hold the other, and wait for him to calm down. Though he'd need to calm down, as well, for his mind was now plagued with worry at the thought of what his Romano must be going through right now in the other world. But his brother was clever and fast, he had to hold onto hope that he'd be okay.

"Spain….h-he made me….do awful things to people….he did things to me." Romano removed his hands from his face and laughed. "B-But you know what they did to my fratello? Austria and Hungary, they…they hurt him in a way I can't even comprehend. H-He never talks about it, but…but he's _such_ a monster…a-and now here you are holding me while I tell you all of these things that I don't even like to think about because for once in my life…_I regret killing someone._" He laughed hysterically against this kind Feliciano's shoulder. He was still confused and too much had happened.

Italy couldn't help but shiver at the other's words. His poor fratello. His poor other self. He gripped onto Romano tighter as the other burst into a fit of hysterical laughter. He shushed him, rocking him back and forth as one hand stroked through his hair. For such a world to exist…he couldn't believe it. "Let it all out, fratello," he whispered softly, continuing his comforting motions. "Shhhh…it's okay."

"When I was finally able to overthrow Spain, when I saw Feliciano again, he was…" The hysterical laughter dissolved into sobbing. "I promised him I'd protect him, and I let him do whatever he wanted because I…I _failed_. I let them take him! I looked into his eyes and told him he'd be safe because I gave myself to Spain after we were defeated, and I was an idiot because I _trusted_ them." He clung to Feliciano and choked on his sobs. "And then America…my America is still there, and I miss him so much it's killing me, because he's the only good thing…but this America…I just…they're so different, but so similar and I've been confused and...and _I want to go home!_" He dissolved then, no longer keeping control. Four days here had done what centuries in his world could never do, and he was ashamed and humiliated, but everything hurt and he couldn't stop it.

"Oh Lovi," Italy said as the older Italian clung to him. "You can't blame yourself for what happened to your fratello. You were young. The only ones that can be blamed are the ones that did those horrible things to him, and you worked your hardest. You overthrew Spain to get to him, si? You must have fought hard every day to get back to him, didn't you, Lovi?" One problem at a time, Italy decided. First he'd talk to Romano about his centuries old guilt, then he'd focus on what was going on with America. He waited for the other to be coherent enough to speak.

"Si, I overthrew Spain. I did, but when I got Feliciano back I didn't know what to do." Romano calmed himself enough to speak in a soft whisper. "I didn't know what to do, so I taught him how to survive. I didn't comfort him. I didn't know how, and he went through _hell_. I…made him the way he is. I turned him into a monster and I taught him to take his fear out on other people, including me." He wiped his eyes. "I promised him it would never happen again. I promised to protect him."

Italy nodded, stroking Romano's hair. "You may not think it, but you are a very good fratello, Lovino," he said, using the other Romano's full name for the first time since he met him. "I know that the other Feli didn't turn out the way you wanted him to, but think how bad it would've been if you hadn't fought Spain so hard! If you'd have gotten to him later! Your fratello would've been so much worse. And then, even though you didn't really know how, you did your best to make sure it would never happen again. You prepared him for the threats to come! Maybe your Feli couldn't have been fixed any more than that," he said sadly, facing the harsh reality of it, "but you salvaged what you could of him and made him a survivor! And in that scary world, it would've been so much easier if you were on your own, wouldn't it?" he asked, but didn't wait for an answer and kept going, "You overthrew Spain! You must've been very powerful, you could've ruled the world! But you went back for your baby brother, even though to make him stronger you had to sacrifice some of yourself to do it. Oh, fratello, don't you see how much good you did for him? You aren't at fault."

"You haven't seen what he's done." Romano took a shaky breath and wiped his eyes. "It's done though." He bottled his emotions, regaining some of the resolve he lost. "I'll apologize to America. You should invite your friends back in so they can do what they came here to do."

Italy frowned at Romano closing himself off, but supposed he understood. "What they came here to do? Fratello, they came because I was worried about you, and they are, too! And before we let them in," he bit his lip, "I'd really like to talk to you about Alfredo."

* * *

**Thank you for reading and may all the reviewers ride their unicorns into the sunset of dreams. I still have plenty! Let's go to 200, but if not, dat's cool. Daily updates yo! They're back! **


	16. Chapter 16

**WE DUD IT! WE reached 200! :D THIS IS THE MOST AMAZING THING EVER! Thank you all so much! Thank you, and I'm glad you all are showing 2p!Romano some love. And it seems we have scrambled your shipping senses. Don't worry, it only gets worse from here. Special thank you goes to Peter Kirkland who basically wrote 1p!Romano's part here at the end. **

**I don't own Hetalia and America was not written by me but by the lovely Jetsir.**

* * *

What's there to talk about?" Romano asked, meeting Feliciano's worried gaze. Such a look on his brother's face was alien. This was who Feliciano could have been if he had done better, if he had been stronger and less trusting. They had tricked him so easily, and if they hadn't Feliciano would be like this, caring and kind with a heart of gold. It sickened him, to have his failure rubbed in his face.

"When you called earlier, you said that you'd kissed him," Italy said cautiously, "and you sounded very upset about it. And then you were talking about your Alfredo. You two are together, si? But it seems like you have feelings for the Alfredo here, too."

"I don't know," Romano replied. "It's confusing. He's not my America and yet…he feels like it."

Italy nodded. "Do you know how he feels about you?"

"I asked him, and he's as confused as I am," Romano said. "I don't know what we are to each other anymore, that's why I need to get home."

Italy paused in thought. "I think you and Alfredo should work things out before you leave. It would be bad if you left uncertainties behind, wouldn't it?"

Romano stared at Italy for a moment. "Why would it matter? It's not like I'd ever see him again."

"Yes, but Lovi," Italy frowned, "if our Alfredo is like yours, but not…then doesn't that mean the same about your Alfredo being like ours, but not? And to leave here, unsure of where you stood with each other, when you go back to yours, you'd look at him thinking of ours and you'd wonder things. You'd doubt things. It would be bad." He stated that last part resolutely, even though he'd just managed to confuse himself with his own reasoning.

"I…I suppose you're right," Romano said. "I'll talk to him when he gets back, before your England comes back and starts the spell. Then you all can see my world."

Italy gulped a bit nervously at the thought of seeing what the other world was like. He hummed thoughtfully. "I wonder when he'll get back. Sometimes things with the police can be a bit slow, and if his boss gets really angry he might get summoned to DC, but I think his boss is in another country, so I don't think that will happen." He looked to Romano. "I think we should let the others inside, now."

Romano nodded and stood, fixing his clothes and wiping the last of his tears from his eyes. Sure enough, as soon as Italy's finger's touched the door, Germany barged through. Both of his arms rested on Italy's shoulders. "He didn't hurt you, right?" Romano's lip curled in response. The Germany in his world would have gotten stabbed in the eye socket if he demanded something from Feliciano like that. He had half a mind to do it himself.

**"**Of course not, Luddy!" Italy chirped. "I told you I would be fine! I trust my fratello!"

Before any more could be said, America's house phone rang.

"That must be Alfredo!" said Italy, turning to Romano, "fratello, you should talk to him!" He gestured to a chord-less phone sitting in its dock on a nearby lamp stand, ringing away.

Romano swallowed a bit and took the phone, holding it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Romano?" America's voice questioned from the other end of the line, he sounded exhausted.

"Yes." Romano's hand tightened around the phone, his knuckles going white. "Are…you…are you okay?"

A sigh. "Yeah, things turned out to be a total mess, like I expected, but it's all good now. You didn't…" He sounded nervous, "you didn't run into anymore trouble on the way back, did you?" His tone suggested that he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to know the answer to his question.

"No," Romano said, looking over his shoulder at the other nations. "No, no trouble. They others came by though and well…Feli and I had a talk. I…I should tell you something when you get back."

**"**All right." America's tone sounded oddly flat. "I'll be there as soon as I can." The line went dead.

Romano blinked slowly at the dial tone and slowly put the phone back on the hook. He turned to the others. "He said he'll be back soon."

The others nodded as they settled back and waited, Germany hovering over Italy anytime the smaller nation attempted to make small talk with Romano. Prussia glared at him, which honestly stung because Prussia was one of his few friends, while Spain looked as if he wanted to ask something. Romano wasn't sure how to take it. This Spain seemed like Feliciano, kind and caring. It still unnerved him. Spain shouldn't be looking at him like he was concerned. Spain should have been looking at him like he was scum, or like a slave, which was what Romano and his people had been.

"Your Spain isn't very nice is he?" this Spain finally asked.

"No, he's not," Romano said evenly.

"Ah." Spain rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, clearly wanting to say something else, but not sure how to go about it. Prussia looked at him curiously and Romano felt something akin to dread curl like a serpent in his stomach. Prussia had a very deep friendship with Spain in his world, but to see it here in person made him sick. His Spain had torn apart his country, destroyed everything, and left marks on his body and soul that would never fade. Prussia was his friend, someone who knew what it was like to have a younger brother you would give anything for.

"What are you staring at?" Prussia asked. "I get that I'm awesome, but really. You're starting to creep me out." He crossed his arms and looked at Spain. "He's not as cute as our Romano."

"Hey!" Italy snapped. Romano blinked in surprise, but was thankful for Italy's interference, no matter how much it hurt to look at him. "Ve, be nice to my fratello."

"Italy, he's not really your brother," Germany said.

"Yes he is. He's my brother, and everyone needs to stop being so mean to him. Can't you see he's having a hard enough time as it is?" Italy promptly threw an arm around Romano's shoulders and gave the other three nations a warning look. Then his soft brown eyes returned to him, and Romano had to swallow past a lump in his throat. They were brown, just pure, kind brown without the reddish tinge.

"Si, I'm sorry, Roma," Spain said with a kind smile. "I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable." Romano found himself instinctively moving closer to Italy. He was being a fool, letting his world color this one, but he couldn't erase centuries of subjugation. This Spain seemed to understand that, for his kind smile didn't falter. "Here, Romano is my little henchman. He grew up to be so cute, I can't help but want to protect him!" Romano blinked. Spain protected his other self? His Spain had taught him to survive on his own by leaving him out in the middle of a forest for a week with nothing but a knife and a fake mustache. He figured the mustache was some kind of joke he failed to find funny.

"So," he began cautiously, "you care about Romano?"

Spain nodded with a strange amount of enthusiasm. "Of course I do! He can be snappy and defensive, sometimes really mean, but there isn't anyone in the world with a sweeter inside." Spain held both hands to his face and gushed.

"He swears like a sailor and threatens me with bodily harm on a regular basis," Germany added. Romano tried to imagine himself threatening anyone with bodily harm on a daily basis and couldn't picture it. That was more Feliciano's speed.

"Ve, but he's the best big brother ever, and I'll make sure that when he gets back, I'll make him pasta with a lot of tomato sauce! He loves tomatoes." Italy smiled brightly and Romano couldn't help but remember a time when his Italy used to smile so sweetly for him. "Ve, do you like tomatoes?"

"Who me?" Romano asked. Four pairs of eyes were suddenly on him, waiting for his answer. He didn't understand the significance of tomatoes, for he didn't give them much thought in the first place, but apparently they were something special for these people. Spain was so far on the edge of his seat that Prussia had to hold onto his shoulders to keep him from falling off. "Um, s-si, they're very useful, especially if you can grow them yourself and buy them fresh."

As soon as the word 'fresh' left his mouth, Spain had hurtled across the room and latched onto him in a tight hug. "You are just the cutest thing ever!" he cried. Romano stiffened and looked helplessly at Italy. His first instinct had been to kick the other nation off, but after screwing up with the mugger, the thought of making another mistake shamed him. Italy only smiled reassuringly, and it was enough to convince Romano that Spain meant him no harm, further proven when he realized the other nation was doing his best not to hug too tightly and irritate the wounds.

"So all he has to do is like tomatoes and suddenly he's the cutest thing in the world?" Prussia shook his head. "He pointed a gun at you yesterday, Toni. Totally not awesome."

"I have to agree," Germany said. "You might want to give him some room." The last comment seemed to be more directed at Italy rather than Spain.

"He was just scared, that's all. He thought he was protecting his brother," Spain said with his arms still around Romano. Romano studied Prussia, unable to help feeling a bit betrayed. The way this one talked was louder and undeniably obnoxious, not to mention his Prussia calling himself 'awesome' was laughable. "Besides," Spain continued, "Feli's right, we need to be more supportive of this Romano. Can you imagine coming to a world where everything is basically the opposite of what you know? It's amazing he'd kept it together so long." Romano wasn't sure how to take this. Spain was right, or at least partially. He was keeping appearances around them, but not on the inside. He was falling apart by the minute. Italy had just seen this, and Romano shot him a grateful look when he felt the other nation give his hand a comforting squeeze.

"Let's not forget he just killed a guy," Prussia added.

"Gil." Spain's cheery smile for once faded and his green eyes hardened. "Give it a rest." His looked to Germany. "Both of you. It was an accident."

"Murder is still murder," Germany said.

"Something you both know, si? At least he was defending himself." It came out lowly, and Romano was surprised when both Germany looked down in shame and Prussia struggled for a retort before growling and looking to the side.

"That," Prussia's red eyes narrowed, but he still didn't look at them, "was low."

"My point is, we've all done our share of bad things." Spain finally released Romano. "He's new here, and jumping down his throat isn't going to make it better." Romano looked from Spain to Italy, two of the most violent nations in his world. Italy defending him wasn't a surprise, for his brother would do the same for him, but Spain was the one he was having a hard time wrapping his head around. It was surreal.

His Spain used to make him work long hours out in the tomato fields, attacking him with a bullwhip if he wasn't fast enough. This Spain had hugged him over the fact he expressed mild fondness over the same plant. His Spain used to yell at him on a regular basis, tired and miserable from dealing with the Austro-Hungarian Empire. This Spain hand't stopped smiling since he got here, even though Romano could see the effects of a bad economy in the light circles under his eyes and the almost sluggish way he moved. It wasn't noticeable if you didn't look carefully, but Romano had once prided himself on being able to pick out weaknesses. Then there was the way this Spain felt about this world's Romano. His Spain hated him and called him lazy, going so far as to lock him in a room for several days in hopes that he would starve. The times his Spain was kind to him could have been counted on one hand, while this Spain seemed to be brimming with it.

It was all so strange and a bit overwhelming to see the same people, but with different souls.

* * *

Russia led America and Romano into his office, which surprisingly to Romano, wasn't terribly disgusting. They all sat down in chairs, Russia behind the desk, respectively, and Romano and America taking the two chairs in front. Romano briefly felt as if he were in trouble at school, and had to go to the principal's office. He shook that thought away, thinking it was rediculous. After a brief moment of silence, Russia spoke.

"America, you said that this Romano isn't the one we know. Explain."

"Well, ya see I found this Romano in an alley not too far from where Feli likes to hold executions. Immedietly, I realized that this 'ere wasn't our Romano. He looks different, speaks different, an' he don't have all them marks from Feli," America started. "Ya know how me and our Romano is, so I figured that this one," America said, jerking his head to gesture at Romano, "and my Romano swapped places or somethin' like that. 'Cuz I haven't even seen him for a few days. He never came by my house to pick up his stuff the night before I found this Romano."

"Alright. So you're saying they switched worlds, per say, and this world's Romano is in that Romano's world?" Russia asked, cocking his head to the side slightly.

"That's exactly what I'm sayin'," America replied.

Russia looked at Romano and asked, "Is what he is saying true?"

"This isn't a damn court!" Romano exclaimed, "Of course it's true! I woke up in a fucking alley to look at my brother, Feliciano Vargas, who I know to be useless and annoying, murdering innocent fucking Austrians! I don't need this fucking shit in my life right-"

"See?" America interrupted. "He ain't from this world. He knew nothin' about the End War, and he was talkin' about some mumbo jumbo about some Cold War that you an' me were in. Not to mention he said somethin' about two world wars and a Holy Roman Empire. Stuff that's obviously a part of his world an' we know nothin' about."

Russia nodded. "America and I have never been in a war. His people and mine see each other as brothers."

_Yeah, but you were the same way before the Cold War, bastards, _Romano thought to himself. "I don't fucking care about your friendship status, bastardos! You were best fucking friends in my world too, before the Cold War, when both of you idiots were trying to be the best, most powerful country, while having a fight over communism as well!" Romano shouted, standing and knocking his chair over while doing so. Did this world even have nuclear weapons? Their technology was behind his world's.

Russia remained irritatingly calm, his blue eyes like two peaceful lakes. "I think you need to practice controlling your temper like America here. Count to ten."

"I'm not gonna sit here and count stupid fucking numbers and look like a fucking idiot!"

"Well ya look like one anyways loosin' yer temper like that," America said.

"Speak for yourself, bastard!"

Now America stood, raising his bat over Romano's head. Romano gave a yelp and cringed, for fear he was going to be hit, which he was, until Russia cleared his throat.

"Stop! Now, both of you! You're acting very childish!" Russia said, raising his voice, which was full of authority. Both nations stopped and were immedietly filled with shame.

"Sorry," America said softly, so softly that Romano barely picked it up.

Russia looked at Romano expectantly.

"Sorry, bastards," Romano said, just as quietly as America.

America and Romano glared at eachother, much like two children. After a moment of silence and an approving nod from Russia, America spoke up,

"So without all that nonsense an' fightin', that's the story. So, I was wonderin' if he could stay with ya until we figure somethin' out."

Russia rubbed his eyes, and Romano realized that he had dark circles underneath. "You do realize that when Italy finds him missing, it's going to be hell, da?"

"Yeah, but look at this guy." America gestured to Romano. "Italy would chew em up and spit em out. He couldn't handle it." Romano was about to protest, but then remembered the crazed look in Feliciano's eyes, and how accurately he had thrown the knife to kill the soldier. America told him that Feliciano beat up this world's Romano, and after another moment of deliberation, he decided that no, he wouldn't be able to handle it.

"Very few have Romano's dedication," Russia said. "This could fall on my head, America. I'd be harboring a fugitive, not to mention this could jeopardize your alliance with the Italian Empire."

"I know that," America said.

"Italy will have both of our heads on a platter," Russia said. Romano was about to interject that surely two against one were fairer odds, but then he remembered Feliciano wasn't just Italy. He was the Italian Empire, the same as what their grandfather had been. "If we do this, Ukraine will not be able to protect us."

"It's the right thing to do," America said firmly. Russia was silent and still for a long time, and Romano wondered if he had been turned into a statue.

"Fine," Russia finally breathed. "He can stay here, but only for you, America."

"Thanks." America mouth curled into a soft, grateful smile. It made him look younger, and far less intimidating. "I knew I could count on ya. The question is, why'd they get switched in the first place?"

Russia's eyes narrowed in thought. "I have a theory, and it has England all over it. You said Italy has been bothering France lately, well, what better way to throw Feliciano off of his game than to separate him from his shield?"

_He sound's so much like a wizard or something, with all this wise talk, _Romano thought to himself. He almost laughed out loud, mentally turning his world's Russia into a wizard. That would _not_ be good. He'd probably destroy the world or create some End War of his own.

"That bastard," America growled, his hands tightening on his bat. "Shoulda known."

"Da, well, America, why don't you show Romano to his room," Russia said. "He'll have a place here until we can figure something out." Romano couldn't remember a time when he actually wanted to hug Russia.

* * *

**Okay, here I am! Updating in the middle of a super storm. It's pretty terrifying, but I'll make it through! :D Thank you all for your wonderful reviews, and thank you to Peter Kirkland for basically writing 1p Romano's part, which will truly be the last we see of him for a few chapters. **


	17. Chapter 17

**Thank you so much for all your kindness. You guys just fill my poor heart with joy! Thank you so much! Love you all! Let's make it to 222 in time for the next update tomorrow! And I know that I didn't update for 2 days, but things came up. Whoopsies. Anyway, enjoy and see you tomorrow! **

**I don't own Hetalia and America was not written by me but by the lovely Jetsir.**

* * *

Never, in all his years as a personification, had America ever been charged with murder.

It felt horrible, calling his boss and telling him the fabricated story of how he'd been attacked by a mugger and, in his panic, had slit the man's throat. When his boss finally spoke after America had finished his story he'd sounded…_terrified_ of him. Even when he revealed himself as what he actually was to his bosses upon first meeting them, even after showing them his freakish strength, none of them had ever been scared of him. To make it worse was that he understood that his boss wasn't afraid of America, he was afraid of _Alfred_ now.

It would probably be like that for the rest of his time in office. It was clear to America that his working relationship with the man, his _friendship_ with the man, was ruined. He probably even ruined that sort of relationship for future bosses to come. No doubt, his boss would jot that down as one of the warnings to his future successor: He's afraid of ghosts. Don't make fun of his weight. Oh, and he has a tendency of slitting throats when caught off guard.

Upset was an understatement of what he felt as he traveled through the streets of the city. The gloomy shadows cast across the buildings from passing headlights were fitting.

Since he'd dropped the bombs on Japan, the other nations looked at him differently. Like he was something to be feared. His youthful body and personality didn't help matters any, making him come across as a child who'd found his father's handgun. He could always, always trust his bosses to be there for him, to regard him without fear, and now he didn't even have that. All because of Romano's paranoia…

_Romano_. When the other had picked up the phone, he'd tried to stop his aggravation from coming through and ended up being rude and cutting the conversation short. He'd done all this for Romano, taken the blame for him, even though he'd most likely be leaving in a matter of days, where none of America's actions would matter. He _understood_ why Romano had killed the man, and Alfred's guilt was another subject entirely, but that didn't mean it didn't anger him. Frustrate him. The Italian continued to distrust him, his world and therefore his country, even though he put so much of his trust in him. With everything else going on between them, it was becoming too much.

He sighed, finally making it to his apartment. He knocked, seeing as he didn't have his keys. He just hoped he didn't look as horrible as he felt.

Spain opened the door. "Hola, amigo. You look awful!" he said cheerfully, only to be shoved away by Italy.

"Ignore him, ve! Come in! We were all starting to worry about you!" Feliciano offered him a bright smile, while Romano stayed by the phone, his expression as blank as ever. America did look terrible. He looked tired and hurt, and after letting Feliciano's words sink in, he knew why. This world was different. Nations trusted one another to protect and to care. It was such an abstract notion for him that he couldn't entirely wrap his mind around it, but he understood that America had been hurt. He just hoped the other nation would want to talk.

America had frowned at Spain's comment, and was about to say something about where the Spaniard could shove those words of his when Italy stepped in, bright and kind as ever. He couldn't help but smile. "Aw c'mon, Feli, you know it takes more to bring me down!" His smile didn't last long once his eyes landed on Romano, who was watching him with that blank expression of his. He turned away, looking to Germany. "Where's England?"

"England was still making preparations," the German informed him. "He said that he'll arrive no later than tomorrow evening."

America nodded. "Sounds good. Well, if you'll all excuse me, I need a new change of clothes." He looked down at the blood he'd put on himself to match his story, a task that hadn't been pleasant at all. "Make yourselves at home." He left the room, not even sparing Romano a glance as he'd walked past. The minute he entered his bedroom, he stripped down to his underwear and opened his closet. Instead of getting out a new outfit, he found himself just staring into it, his emotions slowing consuming him.

Out in the living room, as Spain, Prussia and Germany murmured quietly about America, Italy looked to Romano, nodding his head encouragingly in the direction of America's bedroom.

Romano took a deep breath and made his way to America's room, his chest tight as he lifted a hand to knock. "America, can I talk to you?" He hated how soft his voice came out.

America didn't look up at the knock. "Yeah, sure, come in." He figured he should move, find some clothes, but he didn't. He just looked into the closet as if the answers to all of his, Romano's, _everyone's_ problems were somewhere within its depths.

Romano entered the room and watched America search through the closet in only his underwear. In any other instance Romano would have turned his face at how intimate the situation was, but this was far from intimate. America was a million miles away, searching for something he couldn't find. "I..wanted to apologize." That was a horrid thing to say. It sounded so clinical.

America shrugged. "Don't worry about it." He finally brought himself to reach out and grab a shirt. "I get it." He did get it. In Romano's world, that most likely was the expected response to a mugger, no matter whose country you were in. You looked out for yourself. Always. He sighed, turning to face the Italian. "I'm the one being unfair to you. I'm sorry." There was no feeling as he spoke any of this. He just wanted the conversation to be over.

"I understand I disrespected you," Romano tried. "You…You've been good to me, more than I deserve, and after talking with Feliciano, I know I betrayed your trust." He watched America return to work, his palms sweating and his mouth dry. "I also wanted to…to tell you the truth about…" he sighed. "About everything."

America froze at the Italian's words. He seemed so unlike the Romano he'd gotten used to these past two days. More vulnerable and open. Softer even. He found it to be a bit unnerving. That must've been one hell of a talk with Italy. He'd always known the younger of the Italy brothers had a special knack for getting through to practically anyone. He frowned, confused. "What do you mean by 'everything?'"

"Everything that makes me what I am." Romano closed his eyes for a moment. It was time to show America that he did trust him, and that he meant no disrespect. "Everything that I've done."

America regarded him for a minute, eyes softening. He shook his head. "You don't have to. I'll understand." He hastily put on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

"No, you won't." Romano shook his head. "This…is something you can't possibly understand unless I can tell you." Romano shifted uncomfortably and began his story, everything he told Feliciano, determined not to break down this time. He told him about his struggle to overthrow Spain down to the last gritty detail. Then finding his fratello again, broken and scared, how instead of comforting him Romano had taught him how to become the monster he had been while fighting Spain. The only difference was Feliciano couldn't break out of it. Romano told him how he taught his brother to take his fear, pain, and frustration out on others, and how Feliciano had used it to crawl his way to the top of the world, creating the End War as his power grew. "Our world has always been at war," he said. "But I started the largest one."

America listened with rapt attention, almost unable to believe what he'd heard. He'd known that the world Romano had come from was a cruel place, but this was something else entirely. It was a world without any times of peace, and an everyday struggle since the beginning of time to do what you had to to survive, even at the sacrifice of your own humanity. Everything he'd wanted to ask the other these past two days he now knew the answer to, except…

"You started the largest war?" he asked. It was the war Romano's world was still fighting, the one he always talked about. He wanted to know about it.

"I made my brother into a monster. He took everything in Europe, seduced Germany and Japan among others to form his axis. He's the most powerful nation in my world, and nations fight either for him of against him. Alliances shift every year, but Feliciano is always on top, always in control. I started that war," Romano said, his voice cracking. "I started it. I made Europe's Overlord, because I couldn't…I couldn't hold him….I…because I trusted the others when they promised me they wouldn't hurt him if I allowed myself to be Spain's underling. All of it was because I was stupid and weak." He fell back against the wall. "I let Spain do whatever he wanted to me, and let Austria and Hungary ruin my brother."

In a few short strides, America crossed the room and took Romano into his arms, holding him close. "Romano, it is not your fault. You were a kid. You couldn't control the way things turned out, and I doubt you had the ability to control the actions of others. _They're_ the ones to blame, not you. You did the best you could when you got your brother back, and it's not like you were raised in an environment that taught comfort. You taught him how to deal with the shit life dealt to him the way you had. It's not your fault that he couldn't snap out of it, there was no possible way you could have foreseen any of this. You gotta stop blaming yourself for shit you can't control."

He had a feeling this was all falling on deaf ears, but he said it regardless.

Romano's heart jolted when America held him, and he looked helplessly at the wall. "I lied to him. I looked into my fratello's eyes and told him that it would be okay, that they would stop hurting us if I gave myself to Spain. I promised him. I promised him and it doesn't get better because…I'm starting to feel for youwhat I feel for my America and..and I hate it!"

He felt his heart stop, then speed back up, working double time at the Italian's words, but forced himself to work on the smaller man's issues in order of importance. Romano's guilt over his brother would destroy him eventually if it wasn't stopped. "Lovino…you didn't _lie_ to him. There was no possible way for you to know that they'd betray you like that. You told Feliciano what you thought was the truth. The fact that they were lying is entirely their fault. Not yours."

"That's why you don't trust in my world. I killed that man because I thought I could only save myself. I…you unsettle me…but I never wanted to disrespect you or cause you so much trouble." He took a sharp breath. "I…I'm sorry. I just…It's so hard to break out of it. Four days here…just four and two with you, and I don't understand why I feel like this."

"Hey, I told you I understood, and I meant it. I know you didn't mean to disrespect me." He rubbed the Italian's back. "I can't say that everything's fine, but it'll all work itself out. This world's rules are completely different to the ones you've been living by for years now. It's just a lot to process and adjust to. It's completely understandable that it would put you on edge. The shock of it all is probably the only reason you're getting so attached to me, I'm something vaguely familiar in a world that's so different. Once you're back in your world, you won't feel a thing for me, so don't feel guilty about it." He silently praised himself for not letting an ounce of hurt leak through his voice.

America said everything he needed to hear and Romano let out a shaky breath and pulled away. He looked up at the other nation and twisted his mouth into some semblance of what he hoped was a smile. "Thank you. Y-You're right."

America felt his heart break a little at that. He managed to smile back, if only because of the genuine pleasure of seeing the other attempt to do so. "Don't worry about it. Why don't you go and tell Feli that everything's okay between us? He'd probably want to know."

Romano nodded, still not sure if America's words were accurate, but knew they explained why he was drawn to him, why in just a short amount of time he had come to need the other nation. With one last grateful nod, he left the room.

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading! I'm so proud of you! Let's make it to 222! This game is so fun. **


	18. Chapter 18

**You guys are more awesome than Prussia. Honestly. I'm thinking the chapter after next will be when this bumps up to a rated M story, but don't hold me to that. Jetsir and I are so happy with the response this is getting :D Thank you again! Let's make it to 234. I will explode into rainbows if that were to happen in time for tomorrow's update. **

**I don't own Hetalia and America was not written by me but by the lovely Jetsir.**

* * *

America closed the door as Romano left. He leaned against it, slowly sliding himself to the floor. Hugging his knees to his chest, he stared out into his room. Wonderful, he'd managed to fall in love and get his heart broken in a total of two days. That had to be some sort of record. _And the Gold goes to…America!_

Italy looked up as Romano walked into the room, immediately jumping up and leading the older Italian into America's guest bedroom so they could talk privately, despite Germany's insistence that they be supervised. Closing the door, he faced Romano, an eager look on his face. "So? How did it go?"

"I told him everything," Romano said softly. "And he…hugged me. Why would he do that?"

"He hugged you?" Italy raised an eyebrow. "Well…what happened right before he hugged you? Then I'll know what type of hug it was."

"I was apologizing," Romano began. "I told him everything I told you, about Feli and about my…feelings, and he held me and said it wasn't my fault and that I felt for him because I was in a strange place and he was the only thing familiar." He studied the soft chocolate brown of Italy's eyes, still so painful to look at. "I don't understand, but what he said made sense."

"Oh!" Italy exclaimed, face brightening. "He was comforting you! He was probably glad that you'd trusted him enough to tell him about yourself and wanted to let you know that he understood and that he was there for you! That you weren't at fault!" He smiled at Romano. "I'm glad that you understand your feelings now Lovi, so what did Alfredo say about how he felt about you?"

Romano frowned and thought back, looking at Feliciano again. It was odd how easy it was to talk to this one. He was so kind and light, happy and bubbly, the exact opposite of his brother. "He didn't say anything, just said that things were fine between us and that I should tell you."

"Oh?" Italy frowned, mumbling, "but I was so sure." He shrugged, he guessed not. If America did have feelings for Romano, Italy imagined he'd be the type to be very upfront about it. "Well it's good that you made up!" he said cheerily, pulling Romano into a hug. "Alfredo is a wonderful friend to have, and I'm glad everything's out in the open with you two!"

Romano allowed the hug, swallowing back a lump in his throat. He should have done this with his Feliciano the moment he got him back. "I wish my fratello would have had the chance to become the nation and man you are, Feliciano," he whispered.

Italy hugged him tighter, tears forming in his eyes at the other's words. He ran his hand through Romano's hair comfortingly. He really was a loving person. "Don't ever lose this big heart of yours, Lovi. I think it's the only thing that gives me hope for your world." He pulled back, taking the other's face in his hands and kissing his cheeks affectionately.

Romano let his fingers drift across Feliciano's cheek. His brother with brown eyes instead of those red-tinted ones that were full of paranoia, rage, and fear. Things he put there. This Feliciano, though having seen war and defeat, was still pure and kind. It spoke of a strength Romano was sure he would never come close to.

From outside, Germany knocked on the door. "Italy, are you all right in there?"

"Come on West, I'm sure he's fine! Right, Antonio?" Prussia put a hand on Germany's shoulder and exchanged looks with Spain.

"Si," Spain said with a shaky smile.

"Si! I'm alright, Luddy!" he leaned conspiratorially towards Romano, and said in a stage whisper, "He's such a worry-wart! Sometimes I'm worried he'll grey early!"

"Kesesesese-OW! West!" Prussia yelped from the other side of the door, having heard what Italy had said and had apparently found it funny. Germany, however, had not.

Italy walked over to the door, opening it to see the three taller men standing there, looking behind him and at Romano with suspicion and concern. Italy looked around them, frowning when he saw no sign of America. "Where's Alfredo? It's not his bedtime, is it?"

Spain shook his head. "I don't think so, but he hasn't left his room."

Spain and Italy frowned, turning to look at the American's closed door.

Romano's eyes narrowed in thought. "He hasn't come out?" America wasn't the type to stay cooped up unless something was wrong, that much he was able to gather. Especially when there were still guest nations here, nations he wasn't sure Romano trusted.

Italy turned to Romano, asking in a quiet voice so only he could hear, "Are you sure everything's okay with you two?"

"I don't know. He almost seemed closed off," Romano said, his brow furrowing. Now that Feliciano mentioned it, America hadn't exactly stated his feelings on the matter. He wasn't sure if America's feelings were for him or his other self, but there was the question of why America hadn't made a move on the other Romano. A nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach made itself known as he remembered America talking about how he was jelous of his other self for having the one thing he wanted the most. "I think I should try to talk to America again."

Romano stepped by the other nations, his relief at having finally understood his fast attachment to the other nation now drowned in concern and confusion once more. America said things were fine between them, but he wasn't coming out of his room. His America would do the same when he was hurt, and this America didn't seem the type to keep himself cooped up. He knocked on America's door once again.

America looked up at the knock. He hadn't moved from his position of self pity in front of the door. He'd meant to get up and go join his guests like a good host, but he found he just couldn't bring himself to go out there and pretend he was all right. Fortunately, he hadn't been crying, but that still didn't mean he was in the mood to talk to anyone. He cleared his throat. "W-Who is it?" He winced, coloring in embarrassment at the way his voice came out.

America's voice sounded hoarse and cracked and Romano felt it weigh on him like a lead balloon. "America, are you all right?"

"Huh? Oh yeah," America said. "I just had to do a lot of talking down at the station, looks like it's finally getting to me." He forced out a laugh. He hated lying, it went against his morals, but he could when he had to. He didn't want to burden Romano with any more of his problems, not when he'd work so hard to make the other feel better about his.

Romano lifted a hand and placed it on the door, pressing his lips together in thought. America had listened to him, but he hadn't offered the same courtesy. Manners were still in place in his world, as fickle and shallow though they were. Truly though, he wanted to make America feel better as well, and even if he couldn't, he still wanted to try. "Can I come in again?" He had to be overstepping his boundaries again, he knew, but America sounded so hurt, even when he was trying to cover it up.

America sighed through his nose. He wanted to say no, but Romano needed to talk to him. He wanted to be there for the Italian more than he wanted to be alone. He stood, adjusting his glasses and rumpled clothes and opened the door, letting the other in. Closing the door behind him, he looked to the other with concern. "Is everything all right?"

"Not with you." Romano's eyes traveled over America, taking in his messy clothes and then the eyes that were trying to shine with heroic concern, but were radiating pain. Romano wanted to look away, but he didn't. He had to be strong. "You helped me by listening, I want to do the same for you. What are your feelings?" They were talking about feelings. That was just the cherry on top of the proverbial cake. Yet he was beginning to learn that emotions had a way of rotting if they weren't addressed, and America deserved better than that.

"My-my feelings?" America froze, and then looked away. He wasn't going to burden Romano with any more of his petty relationship problems. "Well…I _feel_ pretty tired, if that's what you mean," he said with a small laugh, then he sighed. "And I'm feeling kinda shitty about the fact that my boss is terrified of me and I've ruined my relationship with him and bosses to come. He probably won't even let me around his family anymore. His kids are little angels, you know. I was teaching the youngest how to skateboard." He slumped, and sat on his bed, clinging on to his distress from that rather than the other things that were bothering him.

"That was my fault," Romano said softly. "Regardless though, he knows you're a nation. You've been around for centuries. Surely he's aware that you've killed before." He had a feeling he wasn't helping matters. Defending killing wasn't the way to go in this world and he took a breath to start again. "I've never been close with my boss. She and Feli are more in tune with each other. I'm…I'm glad you have a relationship with yours, and…and it wasn't your fault. It was mine for not thinking before acting."

"It's not your fault, either." America rubbed the bridge of his nose. Just great. More guilt for Romano. _Exactly_ what he didn't want to happen. "I get why you did it, it's just… it's still very unfortunate how it turned out, you know?" Romano probably didn't, but he kept going. "My bosses have always known that I'm no angel when it comes to violence. I mean, every war since the Revolution I've fought in them. But they were okay with that. Hell, some of them have seen the battlefield, too.

"But outside of war, I've never been charged with murder. The closest I ever got was when I was at a particularly nasty point in the Cold War and I nearly put my fist through a guy for having a Russian name, but even then I didn't. I mean, I broke the hell out of the door next to him, but I still didn't kill him." America vaguely realized that there had been no Cold War in Romano's world, and that he probably wasn't making sense, but he pushed on, getting to his point.

"They trusted me. My bosses knew that I would never harm someone outside of the battlefield, even if it meant that I'd get hurt. They knew that I wouldn't abuse my strength or my ability to be bailed out of any legal trouble imaginable. They knew that I was in control. They used to. Now they won't. It's been years since I've last heard of a nation killing someone like this. Many, many years. My boss probably thinks I'm deranged, and worst of all, he'll think he did something to make me this way. We are a reflection of our people and governments, after all." America leaned back, flopping onto his mattress and stared at the cieling. This was all such a big mess, and it was only a portion of America's troubles. It seemed that all of the shit had decided to hit the fan at once.

Romano looked back at the door, tempted to simply walk out. He had given America nothing but grief since he came here, used him because he was too scared and weak to hold his own in this world. Now he had destroyed a relationship that obviously meant a lot to the other nation. His own boss was almost as mad as Feliciano himself and fed his brother's paranoia and fear. To have a boss actually have a relationship beyond politics with a nation was strange.

He walked over to the bed and after a moment of debating, Romano lowered himself down next to America. "In my world, Russia is the only nation everyone leaves alone. He uses his winters to house refugees and stay neutral. He and my America are very close." Why was he talking about this? America kept mentioning a Cold War, a time when this America and Russia fought against one another. It obviously had a great impact on this America, and was a large part of why he was bothered so badly at his boss's apparent fear of him. "I'm sorry," he said at last, knowing America wasn't going to accept it, but now knowing what else to say. "This whole situation is unfair to you. I wish…" he was about to say something he had never said before in regards to killing. "I wish I could take it back."

"It's all right." He felt as if his dialogue was running on repeat. It's alright. It's not your fault. He sighed, he probably would never get through to the other when it came to his guilt. He continued to stare at the ceiling. "You can't change the past. All you can do is get your shit together and work for a better future." He thought over what he'd just said. "I'll be able to fix things up with my boss. He can't just fire me, and he's always been a pretty understandable guy. We'll work it out."

America wasn't sure if he believed in what he was saying, but he held onto it. He'd always been the hopeful sort. He then thought about what Romano had said about the other world's America and Russia. "So the America and Russia over there are besties, huh? I should tell the Russia here that sometime. He's sure to get a laugh out of it." He spoke of the Russia in his world with bitterness, maybe even a tad bit of hatred. Sure the relationship between their countries wasn't nearly as tense anymore, but that didn't mean they forgot the decades upon decades of personal insults thrown at each other at world meetings. Their worlds really were different. There hadn't been a Cold War over there, instead replaced by many hot ones. He looked over at Romano, studying his face. God, he wanted to kiss him. He pushed that thought away. "Say, Romano."

Romano turned to watch America, his eyes accidentally falling to his lips before they met the other nation's eyes. "Yes?"

America turned his attention back to the ceiling and asked. "You told me your history, would you like to know mine? Sure, I'm only a few centuries old, but I figure you must be curious about this world. Feli can fill you in on the time before that, if you want." He laced his fingers together over his stomach, waiting for a reply.

Romano thought about it. He _was_ curious and he cautiously let himself lay back in the bed so he too was staring at the ceiling, his hands folded over his chest. "I would like that," he said softly. "I…want to know what my world could have been."

America nodded and began telling the other about his history. He started as far back as he could remember, memories of rolling plains and tall forests, wild beasts and native tribes. He told him of a woman with dark hair and eyes who was dear to him but he could recall why. He recounted meeting England and coming into his care, eventually leading up to his revolution and establishment as an independent country. He went on to talk about how he'd initially struggled to keep himself together, but eventually found inner stability.

He talked about all the technological accomplishments he'd made, advances in engineering, medicine, entertainment. The acquirement of his 50 states over the years. All of his wars, the pain of his civil war, the outrage that had led him into second World War, the intense paranoia of the Cold War that had quite literally brought him to the brink of insanity, the horror he'd experienced on September 11, 2001 and the War on Terror that had come from it.

He told Romano everything, not leaving out even his own horrible deeds. The Salem Witch trials, the Trail of Tears, Slavery, Jim Crow, Fat Man and Little Boy, McCarthyism, Mai Lai… everything. Everything that made him what he was today was laid out for the other. Once he'd finished he continued to stare at the ceiling, thinking about his history. Not nearly as expansive as most of the other countries in the world, but still pretty respectable if he did say so himself.

Romano took it all in, barely remembering how to breath a blink. America's history was bold and deep, to the point where Romano felt his own history lacked anything of real substance. It was all war. America had move mountains, made accomplishments and had committed horrors on his own. The way he talked about what he did to his Japan unsettled him. A weapon that could do that would have been fought over to the death in his world. It would have driven Feliciano over the edge trying to obtain it.

But America's history wasn't just war and weapons, and that was something Romano found the most fascinating. This nation had formed bonds with others not just out of necessity and survival, but out of a true respect and trust for others. This world wasn't perfect, far from it, but it was _trying_ and that was what made Romano reach across the expanse of blankets just to take America's hand. The contact was electric and Romano rolled over until he was laying on his side, staring at America's profile. "You…you're not a joke," he whispered, truly awed. He knew it was written all over his face, but for once he didn't care that his emotions were on display. "America…"

America looked over at Romano, feeling his breath catch. The look the other was giving him, the way he held his hand… If he just leaned over…If he just pulled the other a little bit closer… No. He gave Romano a crooked smile and squeezed his hand. "It's good that someone thinks so." Then he let go of the other's hand, moving to sit up and check the clock on his nightstand. It was almost midnight and he hadn't slept the night before. Damn was he tired. "Wow, that late already? No wonder I feel exhausted." Right on cue, a large yawn escape him, stretching his mouth wide open. He looked to Romano. "You should get some sleep, too. Why don't you sleep with Feli? I'm sure he'd like that. Though I have to warn you, from what I've heard from Germany, he likes to spoon in his sleep." While part of it _was_ that he knew Italy would be overjoyed to spend the night with Romano, another part of it was that he didn't want Romano in his own bed that night. Either the pain would be too much for him and he wouldn't sleep, or he wouldn't be able to control himself. He wasn't sure which was worse.

* * *

**Thank you so much! I shall distribute unicorns accordingly. Let's make it to 234, because it's like 1...234 XD I'm such a loser. See you tomorrow! **


	19. Chapter 19

**Hey everyone! Due to me sucking at making this daily updated, I give you this really long chapter with Angel's first ever full on smut scene! How fantastic. So yes, this story is now rated M! Yay! *throws sparkles in the air* Let's mak it to 244 or beyond! More unicorns for all! **

**I don't own Hetalia and America was not written by me but by the lovely Jetsir.**

* * *

Romano sat up and curled his legs beneath him. "Your Germany won't like that. He seems oddly possessive, and I don't feel comfortable with the others, not like…not like with you." Romano swallowed roughly, his fingers knotting into his sweat pants. "I should take the first watch tonight anyway. My uniform is still in the wash."

"Hmm, yeah. Germany and Italy have a kind of thing going. Your other self can't stand him for it." He laughed and recalled all of the creative insults the other Romano had thrown Germany's way in the past. He ignored the pleasant flutter in his stomach at the other's confession. "All right, you can sleep here and take first watch. And I'm sorry I completely forgot about your uniform." He winced, rubbing at the back of his neck. Like his Marines, America believed in caring for and respecting the uniform you wore. That_ definitely_ didn't entail leaving it wet in the washing machine for several hours so that wrinkles could set in once it dried.

"I'll go hang it." Romano got off the bed. "It would shrink if it was dried with hot air." He hurried out of the room and returned a few moments later, closing the door behind him and sitting on the foot of America's bed. The knife appeared in his hand by a flick of the wrist. He still didn't like the night. Four days wasn't about to change over a thousand lifetimes of habit and survival. He trembled, but he kept it to the minimum, welcoming the familiar ghosts that drifted through his subconscious.

America shook his head at the other's behavior but understood the fear behind it. He placed a hand on Romano's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Promise to wake me up for my half of the watch? Can't be reckless like I was yesterday, can we?" He said that last part with a gentle smile, trying to lighten the Italian's mood.

Romano looked into America's eyes and allowed just a small part of himself to open. It wasn't a complete flood like earlier, but a small sliver of trust. America's hand felt heavy on his shoulder and he desperately wanted to place his hand over it just to keep it there. Instead he gave a slight nod. "I will."

America nodded, his smile widening as he gave Romano's shoulder another squeeze before letting go. He realized that Romano's clothes were still covered in blood, and walked over to his closet. After rumaging around for a moment, he took out a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of pants with a drawstring. "Here, your clothes are covered in blood." Walking back to the closet, America took out some sleeping clothes and began changing.

Romano had no qualms about getting undressed in front of others. There was no shame in it. It was being unarmed for the brief amount of time it took to switch clothes that unnerved him, but he wanted to show America he trusted him. Even with the death of the mugger hanging between them like a poorly butchered pig carcass, Romano did trust this America to some extent. Maybe it was because he reminded him so much of his America, or maybe it was the sheer earnestness in the other's sparkling blue eyes, but Romano felt close to nothing as he took of the hooded jacket and slipped the shirt over his head. He took a moment to look down at himself and winced. It was gross. His bruises were yellowed and dark while his scars were puckered and rough. America's bandages still covered the worst of the gashes, but there were still so many. Feliciano's intense emotions had used his body as their canvas, and they were ugly and dark.

Once dressed, America turned around to see Romano staring down at himself. He had to admit, there was a lot of damage. Bruises, cuts, and burns, all made by a variety of different weapons. All done to him by his own brother. No words could really describe just how terrible that was, how bad he felt for the other. Yet America was impressed, each wound represented his care and devotion to his brother and the sacrifices he was willing to make for his loved ones, even if they wouldn't give him a thing in return. It made him someone to be respected and admired. It made him…beautiful. America turned away, both at the cliched nature of his thoughts and because if he didn't quit looking at the Italian, he just might go over there and kiss Romano until he stopped looking at himself like that.

Romano felt eyes on him and turned his head only to see America still digging through his closet. He knew better than to ignore his instincts, but couldn't bring himself to say anything. America's bare back had scars too, even a few that were on par with his. From the back he was almost identical to his America, and Romano's mind was starting to blur the lines between them more and more.

More than ready to go to sleep, America walked over to his bed and pulled back the covers. He was about to climb in, when he remembered something. "Ah, shit, that's right!" He moved one of his pillows aside, revealing a fully-loaded handgun underneath. He picked it up and went and put it safely away in his closet before returning to the bed once more. Tossing Romano a sheepish smile, he explained. "I have a habit of pulling a gun on anything that wakes me up besides an alarm clock. Didn't want to do that to happen to you."

"I imagine that wouldn't end well for either of us." Romano felt the stirrings of doubt in his core, but ignored them for once. He slipped the new shirt over his head before dropping his pants and putting the pants on. He reclaimed his knife and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the far wall once more. The trembling started again, partly from fear, and partly from the excitement the night promised to bring if he let his guard down for just a fraction of a second. He waited for America's breaths to even out.

America tried to sleep, but he couldn't. He was too aware of the Italian on his bed. He chewed his lip. Maybe he should just tell him. Romano had been honest enough to open up to him, to trust him, yet he couldn't even trust Romano? But it wasn't like that. He'd already managed to convince Romano that his feelings for him were only temporary. What good would it do him to trouble the man with his feelings?

Romano had so many burdens, he didn't want to become another one. Eventually, after resorting to counting sheep, America's eyes slid closed and he went into a deep sleep. Even in his dreams, he was plagued by the other. Images of him holding Romano tight and kissing him, being kissed back, faded in and out of his dreamscape. "Romano," he breathed, happily and lovingly, in his dream as the other embraced him. Little did he know, he'd done the same thing outside of his dream.

Romano heard his name and turned from where he was staring at the wall. His trembling ceased and he watched America's face curiously. He looked so at peace with himself and so happy. The tired lines that had formed ever since he had invited Romano back to this apartment were still there, but his face was relaxed and his lips were quirked in a small smile that made something burn behind his ribs. His America smiled like that in his sleep, and again Romano found himself unable to tell the difference between them. Something drew him closer and he scooted back on the bed until his back was to the headboard. He looked over America's face, taking in the soft blond hair, remembering his history, his glorious and flawed history.

A new dream. The most vivid of them all. He and Romano were on his couch, watching a movie, _Up!_ perhaps, but it really didn't matter. All that mattered was that Romano was in his arms, sitting in his lap, his head tucked under America's chin. Romano sat comfortably, his body rid of all the horrendous wounds that adorned his body in real life. He looked happy. Happy to be with _him._ Smiling fondly, America leaned down, kissing the top of the dream Romano's head. "I love you, Romano."

Once again, the words escaped into the real world.

Romano's curiosity promptly vanished and was replaced with something he didn't understand. The trembling came back and his eyes started to burn. Hearing America's voice say those three small words, the words his America had only said to him once made something in him break. Everything hurt all at once, and his vision blurred to the point he couldn't see America's blond hair. All that mattered was the same voice saying those four words.

_I love you, Romano._

He'd only been told it once, and the second round didn't dull its intensity in the slightest. It still drilled straight through him, lighting his desire and longing.

As soon as the words left America's mouth, the nature of the dream changed. The Romano in his dream had been about to tell him something, maybe an "I love you, too" but it never happened. Romano froze, turning his attention to America's front door. America looked, too, his heart stopping at what he saw. There in the doorway stood Romano. _His_ Romano. The man's face contorted in a mixture of anger, hurt and betrayal. America stared, shocked, unable to comprehend what was going on. His mouth opened, but words failed to come out. Then, another figure entered the apartment behind his Romano, placing an arm around the smaller nation's shoulders. The other America. The other Romano had never told him what his America looked like, but the figure his mind had created was definitely him. The other America glared hatefully at the two of them, before turning around, leading his Romano, now weeping, out of the apartment. Seconds later, the Romano in his lap sprung to his feet, running after their other selves, leaving him all alone.

America's eyes snapped open. Guilt washed over him in a title wave. He was aware of tears on his face, but they weren't his. Confused, he looked up. Romano was crying. "R-Romano!" All of the dark emotions in him left, replaced only by a deep concern for Romano's well-being. He sat up, taking the other into his arms without hesitation, running a hand through the other's hair and over his back. "Shh…what happened? Shhh..you'll be okay, tell me what's wrong."

Romano looked up, his eyes terrified as he reached up and cupped America's face in his hands. "You…you said it in his voice," was all he could get out as he stared into America's eyes, trying to see deep enough into them to where he might catch a glimpse of his America. "You," his breath hitched, the words replaying in his head on repeat, torturing him as much as they were making his heart continue to thump wetly in his chest.

"I said what?" He was becoming concerned. Romano looked completely terrified as he clung to him. One hand still around the Italian, he brought his other hand up to wipe away Romano's tears. "Romano, what did I say?"

"You said you loved me." Romano wrapped his arms around America's neck and pulled himself closer, tipping their foreheads together. "You said, 'I love you, Romano'."

It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water onto his head. What America said in his dream, what he'd sworn to never say out loud, he'd said for real. He sat there, forehead touching Romano's forehead, staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. He didn't move. He couldn't. He didn't know what to do.

"I," Romano began but his voice cut off and he felt so utterly lost. Was this punishment? If so it was a remarkably painful one. "I…I can't…anymore." He crushed his lips against America's, utterly terrified to keep going but even more so of being pushed away. He didn't know what he would do if the latter came true, and he went rigid waiting for the response.

Too much. It was too much. He could handle the words and the looks Romano sent him earlier, but not Romano's lips on his. He couldn't control himself anymore. He couldn't _take_ it anymore. He kissed Romano back, pulling him closer. For a brief second, parts of his dream flashed before his eyes: the look on his Romano's face, the other America's hateful glare, This Romano's fleeing form. But the images were pushed away, forgotten in seconds in the wake of his need for the other.

An odd mix of relief and dread sat on Romano's chest like a boulder. He opened his mouth for America, pulling him down so that the larger nation rested on top of him, because America had always been Romano's shield. In moments like these, when they let each other in fully, America was always between him and the rest of the world.

America slipped his tongue into Romano's mouth, exploring it as his hand ran down the smaller nation's chest. _So perfect_, was all he could think about Romano, the situation, and the feel of the Italian beneath him. For all that mattered, Romano was the only other person on the planet right now.

Romano's body arched up into the touch, his fingers cupping the hollow behind America's ear, wondering if it was the same, praying it was when he let his fingers stroke the space there.

"A-ahhh." America pulled away from Romano as he let out a breathy moan. He never knew he was so sensitive there. His whole body shuddered at the feeling, and his lips connected with Romano's once more.

Romano's heart thudded painfully in his chest, and he gasped against America's lips as trails of pleasure shot up from where their hips connected. When had that happened? It didn't matter. Romano jerked his in a quick circle, his fingers curling into the back of America's shirt.

America groaned, his hips moving against Romano's. Their lips. Their hips. Their bodies. They fit together perfectly. He kissed his way down to Romano's neck, a curious hand reaching up to tug gently at Romano's curl.

Romano's vision flashed white and he covered his mouth as he let out a scream mixed with a desperate moan, his toes curling against the sheets as he ground his hips against America. He reveled in the soft warm sensation of the other's lips ghosting down his neck. It was the curl, wracking his body with ecstasy and he removed his hands from his mouth to let his fingers card through America's hair.

"Romano," he breathed as the other writhed beneath him. He ground his hips down on the smaller nation's, a hand slipping under his shirt. He licked his way up Romano's neck, sucking on the skin softly. His hand left Romano's curl, instead going to cup his cheek, tracing small circles into it with his thumb.

Romano couldn't think, but his eyes met America's and he held them, letting his hand fall from America's hair to his cheek. Returning the soft touches and lifting his head to press soft, fluttering kisses down America's jaw and up to the spot just below his ear.

America moaned again, smiling a bit at Romano's soft touches. His hand roamed the the other's chest and stomach before reaching up and taking Romano's chin in his grasp, connecting their lips once more in a soft, loving kiss.

Romano returned the kiss moving another hand to the hem of America's shirt and letting it slip beneath the fabric and over America's toned stomach. That was something different. His America wasn't toned, but thin due to his fear of eating. It didn't matter. His palms soaked up the heat from the flesh moving above him. His other hand joined the first, as they felt up America's sides. It was so easy to imagine that everything felt the same, and he wasn't sure if he was crying out of sheer bliss or fear anymore.

"Ah!" He never knew he could be so vocal. His cheeks heated up in embarrassment at that, but it was short-lived, for again he found it hard to focus on anything other than Romano. He peppered kisses on the Italian's face. His lips. His cheeks. His forehead. His eyelids. Every place he could, trying to communicate what the other meant to him. He tasted the smaller's nations tears on his lips and moved to hover over him more completely, trying to wrap him in affection and offer comfort.

America's lips were everywhere and Romano turned his face to the side to expose more of his neck. His hands continued to work America's shirt upwards and over his head. Just like when America held him earlier, Romano felt safe and protected, as if the world didn't matter. It was just them. No more walls, no more bottling it in and no more holding it back. It was fine to just let go and get lost in the sensation of America's lips, hips, tongue, and the warmth of his body.

America helped Romano remove his shirt, letting it fall off the side of the bed. His mouth attacked the smaller nation's neck and collarbone, kissing, licking, and sucking, leaving little marks on the other's skin. He smiled happily against Romano's neck, wishing this could go on forever.

Romano's lips parted to release soft pants and he pushed America back a bit so he could leave his own marks along the smooth grooves of America's collarbone and neck, his hands ghosting over America's chest. The tip of his tongue flickered out from between his lips to taste the salty sweat that had gathered on America's skin.

America shuddered, his head going to rest against Romano's shoulder. It all felt so good, like the other knew just what to do, where to touch, to make him feel amazing.

_It's because he does know,_ a voice whispered viciously in the back of his head. _You're not the only America in his life_. That thought was swallowed up before he could properly acknowledge it the minute he felt Romano's tongue on his skin.

The smaller nation continued his ministrations, his blood racing through his veins as he slipped a hand back down the length of America's body to place it on the bulge in America's pants. It hardened, and Romano stroked it softly before he slipped his hand inside to touch the heated flesh.

"R-Romano!" Coherent thought was nearly impossible by this point. Still, a touch of nervousness managed to work its way through all the other sensations he was feeling. He'd never been this far with anyone before. America as a government had always been more conservative than most Western nations, and that had transferred to America as a person as well. On top of that, no one had shown any interest before. Hesitantly, he reached down between Romano's legs, experimentally cupping the bulge he found there.

"Alfred," Romano panted out when he felt America's hand rest between his legs. He arched into it, his shirt suddenly feeling too hot against his skin. He tugged it up halfheartedly with his free hand while the other continued to stroke America, base to tip, just as he always liked it. "A-Alfred," he whispered again, almost pleading.

America bit his lip, heart leaping at the way the other said his name. Understanding what Romano wanted, he began to help him remove his shirt, letting out a long moan in reaction to what the Italian was doing with his hand. It felt so good. Working through the haze in his mind his pleasure had created, he managed to get the other's shirt up and over his head and had freed the smaller nation's free arm from it. Now, the shirt only needed to be slipped off of Romano's other arm, an arm whose hand was currently doing amazing things to America's lower half.

Romano grabbed the back of America's neck with his free hand to kiss him, stopping his work on his member to free himself from the shirt. Once he was free his hand found Alfred's length again. He ground himself against Alfred's hand. His lips molded with the larger mans, his tongue slipping through again.

As he ran his tongue along Romano's, America slid his hand into the Italian's pants. Fingertips ghosting hesitantly on Romano's length, he gently took it in his hand, stroking it slowly, trying imitate what Romano was doing to him. He pulled away from their kiss, nibbling on the smaller nation's lower lip, before leaning up and flicking his tongue against Romano's curl.

His body squirmed on its own accord, his stomach muscles tightening with pleasure and the backs of his eyelids turning white momentarily when he felt America's tongue flick his curl. His entire body jerked and he bit his lower lip to keep back a rather loud moan. America was trying, and it was working, just like the first time with his America. He hadn't known how to touch without causing pain. Romano hadn't either, but they had taught each other. "Alfred," he whimpered breathlessly, stroking the other harder. "I need you."

"A-ah! Lovi…Lovino," America murmured as Romano sped up his movements. He panted, looking down at the smaller nation, who was just as worked up as he was. And he _needed_ him. He wanted to please the other so much, but he'd never done it before. He closed his eyes, whimpering. He tried to speak, "Lovino..I don't..I've never…"

"I'll…I'll teach…you," Romano panted out. He gently took America's hand away from his length and slowly licked the pads of his fingers before taking them into his mouth, sucking deeply and coating them with saliva.

America groaned, entranced by what the other was doing. It felt different, but arousing all the same. He tried his best to stay focused, he didn't want to make a mistake. _You've already made a mistake by doing this,_ hissed the voice from before. _He belongs to someone else, and you're taking advantage of him._ Again it went ignored.

Romano swirled his tongue around America's fingers, not wanting to speak as he stopped stroking America's member to remove the pants, arching his hips up and struggling to push the fabric down.

Using his free hand, he assisted Romano in removing his pants, leaving the smaller nation bare for him to see. He couldn't help but let his eyes roam in admiration. Yes, he was battered and scarred, but he looked so beautiful to him, "God, Lovino..."

Romano cracked his eyes open, released Alfred's fingers, and stared up at him, his chest rising and falling. "Your turn."

Looking down at himself, America realized he was still wearing his pants and was quick to discard them. Now he felt exposed, but he hovered over the other man regardless, letting a hand trace over the cross-hatching scars on Romano's side. Blue eyes met half-lidded ones and he dipped his head, capturing the Italian's lips again. "Show me what to do," he breathed.

"Do you...do you have any lubrication?" Romano asked.

America thought about it and with a blush, realized that he did. France gave him some every year for his birthday as a gag. He never thought he'd actually use it. "H-Hold on." He shakily reached down under the bed and found one of the few bottles he actually kept. Actually reaching for one with the intent to use it was surreal and a little embarrassing. America swallowed roughly as he retrieved the bottle and sat back up so he was looking down at Romano again. So many scars and wounds, visible even in the dark. The thougt solidified in his mind that he wanted this man to feel nothing but pleasure.

"This will be less painful then." Romano gave a wiry smile. "Put some on your finger."

America obeyed and bit his lip when Romano lifted his hips. The sight was one of the most erotic things America had ever seen, hightened as the smaller nation guided America's finger to his entrance. America kept his eyes on Romano's face, too embarrassed to watch what he was doing. He slipped a finger inside of the Italian, slowly moving the digit in and out.

Romano willed himself to relax when he felt America's finger invade him. Sensing the other's unease, he pulled America down again to kiss him, murmuring soft things in Italian, all while moving his hips and allowing America in deeper.

Kissing him back, America hesitantly inserted a second finger. Romano was so tight, he had no idea how this was going to work without hurting the other.

Romano groaned against Alfred's lips, letting both of his hands return to America's hair and face. He let himself relax at the all too familiar feeling of America's rough fingers inside of him. He moaned softly, keeping his hips raised and adjusting to the feeling of fingers gradually stretching him.

America relaxed, hearing the pleasured sounds coming from Romano. He must be doing it right, then. He continued working, and thinking it would be alright to do so, slipped a third finger inside of Romano, trying to stretch him to the best of his abilities.

His muscles tensed for a moment, but Romano willed himself to relax and pushed himself onto America's fingers, taking in short sharp breaths. It felt so good despite the initial discomfort. "Mmmm….Alfred…Al..fred…" He licked his dry lips.

"Lovino," America groaned. He wanted Romano. Wanted to be inside of him. His desire was so strong it almost hurt. He bit his lip as Romano moved against his fingers and looked down at the other nation. Romano looked up at him, panting and sweaty, his eyes full of want. The sight alone was almost enough to send him over the edge.

"Al…" Romano breathed against the other's lips, kissing him softly every few seconds. "I…need you," he whimpered. "I need you….please…per favore. Ho bisogno di te." He dissolved into Italian, his mind cleansing itself of all things that weren't raw feeling.

"O-okay," America said dumbly, dizzy from the soft kisses and the mesmerizing Italian his brain couldn't bring itself to translate. Nervously licking his lips, he removed his fingers from Romano's entrance and coated his own aching member with lube. After adjusting his position, he took himself in his hand, and slowly guided himself inside of the Italian. His body shuddered as he moaned. Romano was still so tight. He inched himself inside of the other with as much caution as he could, watching the Italian for any signs of discomfort.

Romano gasped, his fingers tightening in the bed sheets. His breaths came in sharp pants as little by little America pushed himself inside. Romano relaxed as much as he could, sweat and tears trickling down the sides of his face. Finally America was all the way inside and Romano let out a sharp gasp, every muscle in his body contracting and loosening in an effort to adjust. He stroked the sides of America's face with his thumbs, kissing the corners of his mouth, up the bridge of his nose to his forehead. Romano lifted his legs, his thighs brushing America's sides as he wrapped them around the other nation. "M-Move," he whispered. "Move."

America complied, beginning to thrust, clumsily at first, but then at a more steady rhythm as he adjusted. God, Romano felt great. "L-Lovino!" he whimpered, his breathing ragged, trying to keep himself from thrusting too hard into the man beneath him. Sweat trickled down his brow as his eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure he was feeling was almost too much for him to handle.

Romano's eyes slid shut as America began to thrust, unsure at first but soon falling into a rhythm that made Romano feel as if he had finally come home. His hands moved to America's back, his fingernails digging in. He pressed America deeper with his heels, which had been limp against the small of America's back. As the thrusts continued Romano opened his eyes. "Alfred…s-say it again," he panted out. He gasped with each jerk of his body.

"What…?" America asked, grunting as Romano pulled him deeper inside of him. He slowly opened his eyes to look into the Italian's.

Romano saw those blue eyes open and for a moment he forgot the words, though he wanted to hear them so badly. He grasped for them, remembering America's voice when he had. "S-Say 'I love you, Romano.'" Something slipped down and Romano had nothing between himself and this America anymore. There was no blank face or clinical stare, just pure, raw emotion that Romano couldn't bring his hazed mind to identify.

America's heart thudded in his chest at seeing such intense emotion on the other's face. He could almost feel it soaking into his skin, consuming him. He nodded, something like a choked sob escaping his throat before saying, "I love you, Romano. I love you." He leaned down, kissing the other's lips. "I love you so much. I love you, Lovino." He repeated it a couple more times, and each time he said it with honesty. He did love Romano. He loved him so much.

_And let your downfall begin,_ the voice laughed bitterly, no louder than a needle falling on carpet.

Romano kissed America then, fully and desperately as the inexperienced young nation found the right angle that had Romano's toes curling, and his fingernails digging deeper into the other's back. He met America's thrust, repeating those words in his head like a mantra as their kiss broke when the thrusting became more rapid. "A-Alfred," he groaned as he climaxed, sweat causing his hair to cling to his forehead and cheeks, his curl the only thing remaining stubbornly straight.

Feeling Romano's walls clamp around him sent America over the edge. He came, the other's name falling from his lips repeatedly as he released into him. He panted, utterly spent, as he pulled out of Romano and just barely managed to fall sideways, collapsing next to and not on top of the Italian. He pulled the other close, kissing his sweaty hair, his own short locks plastered to his forehead. "That was…" he panted. He didn't continue, unable to find a word to properly describe how amazing that had been for him.

Romano shuddered, letting his forehead rest against America's chest for a moment and forcing the deep swirl of emotions to to plateau before he lifted it to look into America's eyes. He had felt his America there, brief moments that could barely be counted as seconds, but they were there. He allowed America to pull him closer so their noses were nearly touching. "Did you feel your Romano?" he asked.

"No." America frowned, confused, "I felt you…why…?" _Oh no._ It hit him like a ton of bricks. All those touches, how Romano seemed to know all of his sensitive spots. How Romano had looked at him. Asked him to tell him he loved him. It wasn't for America, not this America. He slowly pulled away from Romano, equal parts of hurt, horror and shame spreading on his face, contorting it. The voice in the back of his mind was now at the forefront, laughing at him cruelly, and now he couldn't ignore it. He'd been a replacement the entire time. He'd been so _foolish._ He began shaking his head, at himself, at Romano, or at just the situation in general, he didn't know. He covered his mouth. He felt sick. All the way down to his soul.

Romano sat up tenderly his entire back erupting with fire as he looked at America, frowning lightly. He placed a hand on his lower back, soothing the muscles there. "Did I say something wrong?" He had the urge to reach out and touch America, but suppressed it. Something told him that the last thing America wanted was to be touched, especially by him.

_I need to get out of here_, was all America could think as he sprung out of the bed. Quickly, he grabbed his pants and shirt up off the floor, throwing them on as he fled the room as fast as he could, forgetting his glasses in his rush. He went down the hall, to his front door where he put on his shoes without even bothering with the laces. He sprinted out the door slamming it with enough force to crack the frame, running out of the building and into the night, the laughter in his head chasing him the entire time.

* * *

**Whelp, good job Romano *claps* you are a master at killing the afterglow! Thank you so much for reading this far! First smut scene! So exciting! I'm like a peacock! Caw, caw! **


	20. Chapter 20

**Okay, so I have been procrastinating like a mofo, and for that, I am truly madly deeply sorry. D: I should be smacked with bananas and thrown off of a plane, but I'm back and ready to post the rest of this hoe! *makes pterodactyl noise and flies into the sun* All right, so hopefully we can make it to 260 that way 13 people can ride their mighty unicorns into the great beyond. Not to mention that my lovely RP partner Jetsir is having a rough week, and every review you guys send makes her ridiculously happy. **

**I don't own Hetalia and America was not written by me but by the lovely Jetsir.**

* * *

Romano winced as the door slammed and he stared helplessly at empty air. What had just happened? America looked so utterly devastated when he'd asked. Why though? It was just…his throat tightened in on itself. Oh God, America loved_ him._ Not the other Romano, or at least he didn't think so. His hands clenched the sheets as he shook, his lips trembling. He…wanted to love this America too…

The sound of the door slamming had woken the other nations in the apartment. Italy, though terrified that there might be a robber or axe murderer in the apartment, immediately went to go check on his brother. He entered the bedroom, Germany hot on his heels. Upon taking in Romano's look of misery and his state of undress, Italy winced. Without a second thought, he placed his hand on Germany's face and pushed, sending the larger nation tumbling backwards in surprise as opposed to any real strength the Italian had. Italy closed the door and locked it.

"Don't come in!" he called. "It's fratello time!" Turning on the lights, taking the time to cry out at how bright they were, he bounded onto the bed and sat on the mattress in front of Romano. He took one of his hands. "Roma, what's wrong?" he asked. "Where's Alfredo?"

"I did it again," Romano said to the sheets. "I did the wrong thing again." He felt sick to his stomach and he hurt everywhere, not just physically, but literally_ everything._

"Tell fratello what happened." Italy moved to sit next to the older nation, wrapping his arms around him.

Romano stiffened for just a fraction of a second, but then relaxed. This Feliciano had such a comforting aura that it was almost impossible to keep his guard up. It didn't matter if his other self was a so damaged he could be mistaken for a lunatic. Still, Romano missed his Feliciano more than he could put into words.

He ended up telling Italy everything, how he heard America say he loved him, and how he sounded almost exactly like his America. In the back of his mind, he knew his mind was beginning to construe anything this America did into something his America would. "I heard it, and I couldn't take it. I've been so confused these past few days, and I thought…No, I didn't think, but after it I convinced myself he wanted your Romano."

"Oh, Lovi." Italy breathed, saddened for both him and America. He stroked Romano's hair, thinking of what to say. This Romano had been through so much, and America, oh America, was young and in love and confused. He couldn't really find himself to be angry or disappointed in either of them, so he was going to try and fix this."Perhaps he does love our Romano," he said slowly. "But he loves you, too, Lovi." He frowned, trying to think of a good way to explain it, continuing to run his hand through Romano's hair.

"Maybe I should just go." Romano moved out of the bed to pull his clothes back on. He let out a sigh and realized he had probably botched any chance he had to go home. He _used_ America. It didn't matter if it was mutual or not, or that Romano had been too overcome with emotion to grasp rational thought, it shouldn't have happened. This world was making him weak, and lulled him into letting his guard slip. It wasn't just about slitting throats and forming treaties out of necessity here. Nations cared for one another, and the look on America's face when he said those four words, 'I love you, Romano'…it was too much. He had been right before. He poisoned what he touched here. Without looking at Italy he placed a hand on the doorknob.

"No, Lovino!" Italy yelled, running forward and shoved himself between the older Italian and the door. He had a white flag in his hand, but his face was serious, more serious than it had ever been, and his eyes were wide open. "Alfred cares for you and you care for him, too! Not just your him, but our him!" he spoke quickly, as if afraid that the other would just push him away and keep walking. "Yes, you hurt him, you hurt him bad, but if you just go away, you'll make it so much worse! You think you are punishing yourself, but you're punishing him, as well. He'll feel so bad if he shows up and you're not here. It's because he worries about hurting others, too. I know it's hard to understand, fratello, but here we're open about our feelings. If we shut them down and bottle them up, it kills us inside. If you want things to get better then you need to find Alfred and talk to him, not just assume things. He won't want to burden you with his problems, he likes to help others, but not accept help, you just need to push, you have to make him talk about it. And I know he will if you just try. But please, Lovino, don't just give up! That's the worst you can do!"

Romano took a step back. The look on Feliciano's face was so much like his own brother's. He radiated with authority, but not with paranoia or fear, just confident authority. "Feliciano." Romano lowered his head for a moment and gripped his upper arm, irritating the bruises there. "I don't know what I could possibly say to him." His grip tightened and the pain worsened. "I'm probably the last face he wants to see."

"But after this, you're the only one that can make him feel better." Seeing Romano's white-knuckled grip on his arm, Italy reached forward and gently pried the hand off, taking it in both of his. "And you just need to be honest with him. I know things are very confusing, but he's confused, too, fratello. And I know you think you were trying to use him as a replacement," he squeezed the other's hand, "but I'm not too sure." Italy bit his lip in thought. "When I was a little boy, I fell in love, but then my love disappeared. When I was grown, I met Luddy, and he was so much like my first love that he could be a grown version of him! He'd do little things that only served to remind me…and I was so sad, and desperate, that I started to cling onto him. Every time he got closer to someone else, I panicked, thinking I would lose _him._ again…

"Then, I stopped thinking like that. I began to think of Luddy as Luddy, and love him as such. I realized that even though they were so similar, they weren't the same person. I love them both dearly, both my first love and Luddy, but it's for their own special reasons. I think that's how it is with you and Alfredo. No matter what, your Alfredo and our Alfredo are not the same person. Just like you and my Romano. Me and your fratello. They've lived different lives, grew into different people. Lovi, we're not what your world could have been just as much as your world is not what ours could have been. We're different things entirely. I believe that Alfredo knows this. It's not about who he loves best or if he's trying to find my fratello in you, he loves you both as separate people, for your own qualities, and while that's still not entirely right, I think it's true. The heart can hold more than one person in it, you know." He pulled Romano into a hug. "Lovi, you can't let that be the last time Alfredo sees you, it'll break your heart as much as it'll break his."

"I can't love him," Romano said. "No matter how much I want to." He thought of his America again. How was he going to explain this if he ever returned home? What would he think? Romano loved him with every fiber of his being, though that didn't count for much in his world. That dark hair, those deep crimson eyes, and that smirk, Romano loved all of it, including how their fingers interlocked when doing what he and this America had just done. America, who hadn't trusted him for the longest time, until Romano had risked his life to touch the other's upper arm. Funny how poisoning birds was how the relationship between he and his America began, just as with this one. He didn't belong in this world though. It was why he kept making things more difficult on this America without meaning to. It didn't matter how much he wanted to or did care for the blond counterpart to his lover, it was doomed. "I'll apologize," he said. The words rang hollow. There was only so much an 'I'm sorry' could do. For things like this, he imagined that they had the some effect as smacking a raging bull with a wet fish.

Italy sagged with disappointment. "If you say so, Lovi." Moving aside, he opened the door, where an eavesdropping Spain, Prussia, and a very red-faced Germany sprung back, trying to look innocent. Italy turned to them, a bright and false smile on his lips. "Lovi has things to do, so he can't talk to you right now. C'mon everyone, I'll make pasta!" With that, he ushered the trio into the kitchen. He could only do so much convincing. Romano had to make his own decisions.

Romano watched them go and returned to the laundry room. He didn't want to talk to America while wearing America's clothes. He looked at where he hung it and touched the fabric. It was still a little damp, but it would do. He shucked off America's shirt and realized he was still a mess from their previous activities. Gathering up his uniform he headed to the guest room's bathroom to clean himself up before putting on his gray jacket and pants. He pulled on his boots and laced them up before retying the blue sash around his waist. Then came the ascot that draped behind his shoulders, the knot placed below the collar. Finally he put the beret on and walked down the hall to the front door, ignoring the chatter of the other nations. He left the apartment, not sure where he was going to look. It still hurt to walk, but he didn't limp. Limping was a sign of weakness and as a child he had been quick to kill the urge.

**nnnn**

America had ended up at the place by the water where he and Romano had shared a kiss. Past the railing that separated the water from the sidewalk was about a foot of concrete, enough room for him to sit. Still panting from his sprint, he climbed over the railing and sat, placing his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Somewhat calmed by the slap of the water against its barrier, he let his mind run wild. He only had himself to blame. He knew the turmoil Romano was feeling. He should have pushed Romano away.

No, he shouldn't have allowed Romano to sleep in his bed in the first place, and made him him sleep with Italy regardless of Germany's griping. He should have thought more things through. Now he had just given his virginity to a man he loved, and that man didn't love him back. He and the other America were two different people, he'd come to realize. Just as the Romano's were two different people. He hated to admit it, because it made him feel like a dirty cheating bastard, but he loved both Romano's. It wasn't a matter of replacing one for the other; it was about loving two different people for the different ways they made him feel. But Romano didn't think that way, and he'd just have to deal with it. He shivered, his sleeping clothes not much protection from the chill of the night.

Romano walked through the city, looking at all the clothes on display, even so late in the night. After awhile he wandered into the park to where he and America had kissed, back when they could have held their hands up and stepped away like strong, responsible people. America was young, that was his excuse, but Romano wasn't. Sometimes he even felt older than he actually was. Finally, he came across America and stopped in his tracks, unsure what he was going to do. America might very well throw a punch hard enough to knock his head off of his shoulders. The thought terrified him for a moment, but then he deserved it. Whether it would bring him eternal peace or damnation was up in the air. He cleared his throat, hoping to get the other nation's attention.

America didn't need to look to see who it was. He sat up, staring off into the water, though it was more like a black abyss with how dark it was. Too hurt and ashamed, America couldn't bring himself to look at Romano. "Hey," he said weakly. He didn't want to talk, yet he must have. If not, he wouldn't have gone to a place where he would be found so easily by the other nation. This was his city, after all. Had he wanted to disappear, he could have done so without effort. He sighed. "I'd like to apologize. I should have had better control of myself, and I shouldn't have run off. You didn't deserve that."

"Yes I did," Romano whispered. "What happened wasn't fair to you. None of this has been fair to you." He took a breath. "I feel like we're going in circles, but you've been so kind to me." Romano looked down and toyed with the knot of his ascot. "I've given you nothing but trouble, but that…that was on a completely different level." He felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of him, and he placed a hand over his eyes. "I want to love you so badly."

America hunched over, folding in on himself. He couldn't deal with this. He felt like he was a colony again, young and inexperienced and scared, wanting to be mature, but not knowing how. A loud sob escaped his throat, his body shaking. He'd thought he could handle this, to control his own feelings, to help Romano with his guilt, to be the hero he'd always claimed so loudly that he was. He'd failed on all counts. He felt terrible, Romano felt terrible, and he'd managed to add more onto the other's endless slate of supposed sins. Now Romano said he wanted to love him, setting them up for another round of heartbreak, and he was terrified. America cried harder than he had in years, decades even. He clutched onto himself, holding on for dear life as something crumbled within himself. He failed, failed horribly, and he was too scared to try again.

Romano watched the other break down and took an alarmed step back. The last time he'd seen a nation break down like this was when Feliciano had overtaken Belgium. She had remained strong for so long, but within five minutes of occupation, with only words, Feliciano had broken her down into a sobbing wreck. America looked very much the same, and Romano figured it was fitting. He was the one who taught Feliciano all he knew, but he hadn't wanted this, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do. "I don't know much about things like this. It's not something I grew up knowing, but I feel you…and him. I…I don't know what it means."

"I t-tried so hard!" America sobbed. "I wanted t-to help you s-s-so bad…and I couldn't! I can't!" In a sick way it felt good. He didn't have to pretend that he knew what he was doing, that he was wise, that he knew just what to say. He didn't have to pretend anymore that he was a hero. Because he wasn't. The other nations had been right about him all along, he was just a little boy with too much power. Useful if you needed some muscle but not for much else. If only Romano had showed up in one of the older nation's countries, his country. Italy would have been able to help him, he was kind and loving and even though he wasn't much of a fighter, he had years of experience and wisdom that America just didn't possess. "I'm sorry I f-failed you…I'm sorry I'm so useless!"

"No." Romano took the chance to sit next to the weeping nation. He figured he should have tried to hug America, perhaps pat him on the back, but his arms remained stubbornly in his lap. Instead Romano looked off into the harbor where the Statue of Liberty stood. "You're not useless. You've bent over backwards to try and help me. It's just that I'm not part of this world. I'm from somewhere terrible with only war and bloodshed to its name. I can only poison things here. You have so much. Your history was so beautiful and diverse, because you accomplished things. What I did back there, that was disgusting. You deserve more than that." It was true. America was so kind and thoughtful, willing to take him in and do whatever it took to make sure he was comfortable, and Romano had thrown it back in his face by killing one of his people and sleeping with him to quell his own loneliness. "I'll leave…if you want me to."

America's sobs had stopped, leaving behind a bad case of the hiccups. Tears continued to roll down his face. He shook his head, slumping with emotional and physical exhaustion, "I don't want you to leave, but I'm scared." Scared of what would happen if Romano stayed. Scared that he wouldn't be able to control himself. Scared that if he continued to act like this, all the progress he'd made with Romano would become undone and he'd revert to how he'd been when he first found him. Scared of more failure. He looked down at the black water, a part of him wanting to slip off the edge of the concrete and into the water's depths. Let it swallow him up so he wouldn't be able to let anyone else down.

Romano wanted to pull America out of this, but who was he to do so? He was far from stable, but he had to try. He owed it to America to try. He thought back on what Italy said and swallowed. "Alfred, look at me."

At first, America didn't move, but then, slowly, he turned and did as he was told. His vision was blurry from the dark, his tears, and his lack of glasses, but he could see the determination in Romano's eyes.

Romano hesitantly reached up and clumsily brushed away Alfred's tears, reminded of how Feliciano had looked at him all those years ago. This was his chance to do the right thing, to figure out what he needed to say and say it. He would not create another monster. "I'll be as clear as I can. I," he licked his dry lips nervously, "I've felt more in just four days here than I have my entire life in my world." He breathed deeply, trying to keep hold of his English. Then again, what he wanted to express to the other was just as impossible to say correctly even in his own language. He continued to wipe at America's tears. "Feliciano said you can love more than one person…

"I didn't know that. I _want_ to let myself love you, because it would be easy." Romano's voice was strained and weak, just like the rest of him. "There's so much to love, but…I don't want to hurt you anymore than I already have." He touched his own chest. "I still love him too, but you…you're kind, honest, brave, and willing to make sacrifices for someone like me, someone who's so…so…fucked up, dammit!" He closed his mouth with a snap. Those words hadn't been his own. He wasn't one to use vulgar language. It took a certain kind of silver tongue he didn't possess to make them sound intelligent, and the ones that just flew from his mouth felt like a habit, a mechanism he couldn't help. "I want to hold you right now, to tell you that you're the only one I could ever love, and that I want to stay here with you, but we both know that would be a lie."

At his words, America leaned forward and kissed Romano's lips softly and pulled back, for once have the control to do so. He gave the other a broken smile. "we're both fucked, aren't we?" He loved this Romano and the other Romano. It was obvious Romano cared for him, but also had an America waiting for him back in his world. He chuckled hollowly. "I honestly have no idea where to go from here, but I know I'm going to burn for it, later." Another empty laugh. He looked to the sky, the sun had risen without them noticing. "We should get back. I'll bet the others are worried."

* * *

**Whelp, that was still depressing on Romano's part. Points for honesty though? He's so bad at this. I feel like he's flailing, the poor babu. To 260? Also, I'm going to update this daily again. Don't you worry. Meanwhile, I have a question. How bad are your shipping compasses screwed up? And show Jetsir some love, she was really down when I last talked to her. **


End file.
